The sick outlaw
by AshtonCat
Summary: Butch Cavendish comes down with a mysterious illness and finds help at a ranch ran by a young woman and her mother. Will he be able to return the favor and save the ranch from his own brother's ambitions? Butch/OC Rated T for swearing and some violence.
1. Chapter 1

Currently in a state of Butch Cavendish obsession. Any other fans out there? So I thought I might give it a shot. Not enough good Butch stories out there I think. I might continue with it. Reviews help!

Chapter 1

A rainy night

"did ye find the doctor?" Frank asked Barret when the latter arrived back at the camp one cold, rainy evening. Barret nodded and pointed at a scared, tied up man with a handkerchief in his mouth atop one of their horses. "he didn't really go willingly" the gang member chuckled. "How's Butch?" Frank frowned, like a young boy who had just dropped his ice cream. "He aint doing too good, but he won't let anyone near him" he replied. Looks were exchanged among the other gang members, their leader wasn't the touching type. You better knew what you were doing if you reached out to him. And especially now he seemed to going down with something, he was all the more the growling dog he could be.

Barret untied the doctor and pushed him toward the sleeping form of Butch, laying a bit further away from the fire as usual, his back to his gang. "Mind yer fingers, doc. He tends te bite" Barret said, causing the gang to snicker as the doctor turned pale. Nevertheless the man made a brave attempt to aid his patient. "Mister Cavendish? I'm going to have to ask you to face me, sir. And tell me what's troubling you" the doctor asked, leaning over the gang leader. There was a long silence, followed by an annoyed sigh from Butch. "ah told all of them morons over there, ah just need to sleep. Yer wasting yer time, doc" the doctor swallowed and looked at the gang helplessly. It was Frank who eventually broke the silence.

"ye aint just tired, Butch. Tell the doctor ye threw up this morning, and yer cold all the tahm. Shivering and.." "shut up!" with strength they didn't know he possessed Butch had gotten to his feet, his knife to Frank's throat and stared down the worried criminals surrounding him. "Ye shut yer mouth, Frank, I aint gonna ask twice" Butch continued. With eyes wide as saucers, Frank nodded and the knife was pulled away from his throat. The doctor had regained his bearings somewhat and straightened up, ready to talk to Butch, who was after all, his patient. "Mister Cavendish, I do so recommend you let me examine you. If you happen to have Cholera I don't want to leave you out in the desert untreated" he said. After a moment, Butch locked eyes with the doctor. "ah don't have any of that. Now git gone. Give him a horse! Let him go" the outlaw answered and turned away, sinking back onto his cot.

There was nothing else the doctor dared to do with this unwilling patient, so he turned to the gang instead. "He cannot stay out on the rain and cold with a fever like this. He needs a warm place to rest this off." he said. The gang members looked at eachother, none of them had a place to go, they were all outlaws, on the run from something. There were no warm places to go to. "we could go to a brothel" Skinny suggested "Brothels are warm" they all chuckled. "and who's going to pay for that? No one of us has any money, neither has Butch. Why do you think we're out here in the rain, you dipshit?!" Ray yelled at him. "gentlemen, please! Your leader might be very sick! Surely there must be some place you can all go to.. for emergencies" the doctor urged, causing more looks to be exchanged among the outlaws. There was no emergency place to go to. If you happened to get sick, you might as well started your prayers you'd be strong enough to live it out in the open air.

"Get real, doc" Garret started "nobody aides a gang of outlaws. There is nowhere we can go with him" "I don't want te go anywhere!" Butch hollered, getting up and swaying on his already unsteady legs, sweat dripping down his face. "If ye could all shut your traps and let me sleep in peace, I'd be right as rain in the morning. But ye all had to disturb my rest by dragging this doctor into our camp! I never asked fer ye to bring me a medicine man! Git rid of him" the doctor was all too willing to fulfil Butch' wish and jumped on the horse that was appointed to him.

When Ray, Skinny and the doctor rode off back to town, Butch leaned forward as if he was going to topple over. He panted, trying to catch his breath and regain his bearing. But everything was spinning in front of his eyes. Frank tried to take his arm to support him but was thrown off immediately. "Git off me! Don't ye ever touch me again, boy!" Butch yelled, aiming his gun at the young man's head. "ahm sorry, Butch! Ah meant nuthin' by it! Ye just looked like ye were goin' te fall over, that's all!" Frank cried in his defence. He had had Butch' gun pointed at him before, the boy was a little slow, but it was never with the rage he now saw in the gang leader's eyes. The young outlaw watched as Butch sank back onto his cot and laid down on his back, panting heavily, and crawled over to him slowly.

"ye know what we could do, Butch? There's a place not so far from here. Some ranch folk lives there, ah believe. We could shoot it up and use the place for a bit. Give you a proper bed and all" Butch listened vaguely to Frank's suggestion but had to close his eyes eventually. "Just let me sleep" he growled and turned on his side, his back to Frank.

When the rest of the gang returned to camp, Butch was vast asleep, leaving his gang to ponder on what to do next. Nobody felt like moving Butch around against his will. All they could do now, was hope that their leader would feel better in the morning.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 is up! Thanks for the reviews. Let me know what you think of this one!

It had rained for most of the night, and when morning finally came, and rays of light touched the awakening prairie, most of the outlaws of Cavendish' gang had moved their sleeping cots under their horses. Nobody had dared to wake Butch and tell him it was raining. Only Frank had been brave enough to throw a dusty saddle blanket over their ailing leader, keeping him somewhat dry during the night.

While the gang was packing to get ready to hit the saddle and leave, Ray kneeled down next to Butch to get a better look at him. "Ah don't think he feels any better, boys" he said. "He gonna die?" asked Jesus. Ray shrugged and shook his head "how the hell should ah know?" he reached out to shake Butch' arm lightly and expected to get a knife against his throat, but instead Butch opened his eyes with great difficulty and gave such a pitiful moan it made Ray's stomach turn in worry. "Butch, we gotta get doing now. Ye good to ride?" he asked softly. Butch didn't reply, but after a few moments of silence he started pulling himself in a sitting position slowly. "sure ah ahm" he grumbled and rubbed his eyes, the world spinning before him. "git me some water"

After a few sips of warm water from a flask belonging to Barret, the gang leader took another deep breath and looked around, catching all the looks his gang members gave him. "what ye all lookin' at?" he said, his voice gruff. "ye don't look so well, Butch" Skinny answered. Had he been well enough, Butch would have rolled his eyes, but he decided not to waste any precious energy now. "ah know I don't, Skinny. But that won't stop ye from riding, won't it? Nor will it stop me. Understood? Did ah make myself clear to ya'll?" the gang leader said and got to his feet shakenly.

No one dared saying anything during the difficult ride. They could see Butch' condition worsening throughout the day, as he slumped over his horse, panting heavily. The dark mare seemed to sense her master's frailty and she took extra care to avoid rocks and holes in the trail, to make it easier for him to cling on to her manes. Ray occasionally handed his leader a flask of water, knowing that fluids were important. And Butch seemed too sick to be stubborn about it this time. His gut was on fire, yet the rest of his body felt frozen, and all the while he was sweating in places he didn't even knew he had. This couldn't go on like this. He needed to rest and he needed it badly.

"frank" he said, waiting for the young man to guide his horse alongside Butch' "where was them ranch ye were talking about earlier? Around here somewhere?" The young man smiled and nodded. "aint too far now, Butch. Just a little more down this creek" he answered. Butch sighed and looked up at the dirt road ahead of them, feeling the sun burn through his hat, or maybe it was his spiking fever, after all it was autumn, and the days were getting cold "we'll stop there.. I.. I'm tuckered out. Take Skinny with ye and make sure them ranchers are informed about our visit. And don't make any unnecessary ruckus goddammit! I don't want the place to be covered in blood when I get there" he said. The two rode off on breakneck speed, knowing it was urgent that Butch took some rest. He was vaguely aware of Ray's hand on his arm, holding him up on his horse in fear of him sliding off. "Good decision" the older man said. Butch frowned, the sunlight hurting his sore eyes. "Only one left now, Ray. Ahm getting old" Both men chuckled lightly.

When they arrived the ranch was still standing to Butch' delight. Those two knuckleheads had managed to not burn it down in their effort to take it over. An elderly man sat on the front porch holding a shotgun, seemingly undisturbed that his house had just been taken over by criminals. He locked eyes with Butch when the sick man came up the stairs to the front door, holding his stomach in silent agony. "How ya doin' oldtimer?" the outlaw asked. the elderly man, tobacco juice dripping down his long grey beard as he chewed it, spit in front of Butch' boots. And with that, all had been said.

Inside he found two frightened women sitting on a couch while Skinny pointed a gun at them. One of the women, the younger one, looked up and whispered something in presumably her mother's ear. Butch Cavendish. They both recognized him. he knew that look anywhere. "Ladies.." he mumbled, passing them without anything else. He decided to collapse on the first bed he'd come across and closed the bedroom door behind him, locking himself away from the world.

The rest of the gang made themselves comfortable in the living room. The women were allowed to go about their business when Ray took over, like he did when Butch was away. And the two retreated to the kitchen instantly, where none of them would bother them. Especially the younger woman had received numerous looks and calls from a few gang members. "we have to find a way to contact the Eltons" her mother whispered frantically. Referring to their neighbours, another rancher family that lived 50 miles up the dirt road "they can go alert the sheriff in town"

"I don't think that's wise, mother. Besides they don't really mean us any harm. is unwell. They might just leave when he rested" the younger one said. "You're so naïve, Eleanor. I don't know who you're taking after, not me that's for sure. They will soon get bored, and then what? They won't stay idle like this for long. I won't sit here and watch my daughter get ravaged by that gang of mangy dogs!" her mother whispered, a little too loud than necessary.

"Hey! Old hag. Who are you calling a mangy dog, eh?!" One of the bandits growled from the livingroom. Eleanor tried to quiet her mother. "If they were here to ravage me and raid the place, they would have done so already. Mr. Cavendish is in my bedroom, I saw him close the door behind himself. I think maybe he's just awfully tired, maybe they just need a good night's sleep and in the morning they'll all be on their way. Please mother, you have to trust me on this for now" she said, her hands on her mother's narrow shoulders. The older woman slowly calmed down and nodded. "You're right. Father would have urged us to remain calm. He would have. No drastic decisions now, Mary, he would say to me. All that lives needs air and space. You remember he always said that, Eleanor?" the young woman smiled and nodded.

They had lost father three years ago to a disease that had been short lived. One day the rancher had started complaining about headaches, three days later they found him dead in his stables. Eleanor's grandfather had come to live with them to help the two women out on the ranch, but he was getting older too. And after two strokes, all he could do was sit out on the porch with his shotgun, guarding his daughter and granddaughter from ill wanting criminals. Eleanor was still wondering why grandpa hadn't fired one shot at the sight of the two outlaws that showed up a few hours ago.

Mother was asked, or rather forced, to cook for the entire gang that evening. She had bravely stood up to Ray when he asked her to cook them all a good meal, refusing at first hand so the outlaw was simply forced to pull out his gun and point it to her head. With pursed lips, as she always did when she was furious, she went about her pots and pans. Making a simple bean stew with enough bacon to satisfy the entire US cavalry. Eleanor wondered why no one was bothering to bring Mr. Cavendish any food, and since Ray seemed to be the one to talk to, she asked him.

"Oh he aint hungry now, Missy. Ye don't want to go in there" He chuckled at the young girl's question while spooning up his bowl of bean stew, gravy dripping down his chin. "He's not going to get any better if he doesn't eat or drink, mind you" she told him. Momentarily they all stopped eating, waiting for Ray's answer, and hoping he wouldn't decide to send one of them in there to feed Butch. Ray set his bowl aside and looked up at her. "That's right, so maybe you should go in there and see if he wants some of this shit" he said. She stared back defiantly and crossed her arms. "I hardly see the point in doing such a thing. I think he much rather sees one of you than a complete stranger" she said. The gang chuckled and so did Ray. "You leave him alone, you hear me? It's for your own good. Don't go in there" Ray said and picked up his bowl to finish his meal. The conversation was over and she had been warned.

When night fell, the gang settled down in the living room and soon after the only sound the women could hear was their loud snoring. They took shifts in guarding the front door, so the women wouldn't be able to go out and call for help. With not much else to do they decided to go to bed and wait for morning.


	3. Chapter 3

chapter 3 is up. thanks for the reviews, love em'

It wasn't much later when Eleanor was awakened by a sound coming from her own bedroom. Apparently Mr. Cavendish was awake and stumbling through his room. They both shot up in bed when they heard a loud crash, like something shattered to the floor. A string of curses erupted. Eleanor got up from the bed and wrapped herself in a blanket. "where are you going?!" her mother asked, reaching out to take hold on her daughter's night shirt. "I want to see what's going on in there" Eleanor said, pulling herself free and leaving the room, ignoring her mother frantic calling.

Butch had managed to break the water pitcher while he retched in the water basin. There was nothing in his stomach, and the bile burned his throat till his eyes started tearing up. When he heard the door open behind him, he flung around holding out his gun. Eleanor held up her hands. "easy, I'm not armed" she spoke softly, not wanting the others to wake up. He didn't lower his gun. "Git out" he growled. He would have said more if his stomach hadn't intervened and he was forced to turn back to the basin when another spell of dry heaving acted up. She waited till he was done and trying to catch his breath. "what do you need?" she asked. He looked up at her, sweat trickling down his pale face. "ye got any laudanum?" she nodded quickly. "Yes, sure.. I'll get it for you. Lay back down" she instructed and left the room in search for her mother's secret stash of the addictive painkiller.

Laying down was all he could do right now, that and concentrating on his breathing to distract himself from the soaring pain in his abdomen and head. At that point, he thought he was going to die. His body couldn't take much more of this shit. But atleast he wasn't out in the cold desert when he'd draw his last breath. She was back at his side a moment later, showing him a glass of water with laudanum mixed through it. He reached out and gulped it down, ignoring the bitter taste of it.

It would help with the pain, but it wouldn't cure the illness, whatever he had. Within a few moments, he started to look a little more relaxed, his face no longer showing immense pain, his eyes closed. "what happened to you?" she asked softly, sitting down on the side of his bed. "Git out" was his only reply. "You're not going to get better this way. And I would like for you and your gang to leave tomorrow morning" she spoke defiantly, but inhaled sharply when he reached into his belt and pulled out his gun, cocking it and pointing it at her. "I aint gonna ask it twice, gurl" he growled. She turned and left, closing the door behind her. She hadn't noticed the entire gang was awake and gazing at her with a mixture of admiration and fear.

"he didn't shoot ye, did he?" Frank asked, sucking on the little braid of hair. She shook her head and tried to regain her composure. "I gave him.. laudanum for the pain. But that's not going to solve the problem. He needs a doctor" the gang exchanged looks. "yea we tried that. Didn't work. He don't like them doctors" Barret sneered from the couch. "He seemed to like ye enough not to shoot ye on sight, though" Skinny told her, nodding at her. "now why..why would he shoot me? For heaven's sake, I don't carry a gun, or.. or mean any harm. He should pick his battles more carefully next time" she spoke, only just realizing she was standing in front of atleast eight men in her nightgown.

"He gets like this sometimes" Ray suddenly said, rendering them all quiet. "I've known Butch for years. He had the same thing goin' on many years ago. When all of yer mothers were still wiping yer noses, all of you. Something goin' on with his stomach, ah don't know. He shouldn't eat all that shit he eats, probably" he continued. Some of the gang members turned slightly green thinking about Butch' occasional eating habits. "so he'll git better?" Frank peeped. Ray shrugged and nodded. "eventually, took a while though. Think we camped on that same spot for atleast a week before he got strong enough to ride again"

"a week?!" Eleanor protested. "No, you're not staying here for a whole week, you can't" Ray chuckled and looked up at her. "well, I don't think yer the one calling the shots in this one, darlin'. We're not about to drag Butch out of that bed, onto his horse to find another ranch. Yer just goin' to have to live with us for a while. We'll be on our way when he says he's alright to travel" he said. "we don't have enough food to feed you all for another week. No, I want you all out. He can stay" she finally decided, knowing her mother would kill her for this, but right now she had to find a way she could keep the ranch rolling.

The gang looked at Ray, he was the one making the decisions when Butch was out, but none of them felt like sitting around this ranch for a whole week. "ah don't think he'd like that very much" Ray spoke carefully after a moment of contemplation. "who says ye won't turn him in the moment we're gone?" she shook her head and frowned. "he can't go to prison like this, that would be.. inhumane" she said. Whatever the hell that meant, the gang liked her idea. "Frank stays here too" Ray finally said, getting off the floor to get ready to leave. A surprised Frank looked from Ray to the girl and back. "whut? Why me? Ray ah don't want to stay here with Butch!" but the older gang member wouldn't have none of it. "ye stay put and protect yer leader from these here folks, ye hear me? Besides boy, ye slow us down. Best te stay here and we'll be back in a week to pick you two up"

Eleanor tried to give the panicking young man a reassuring smile and stepped aside when Ray opened the door to Butch's room. The outlaw was vast asleep, stretched out on the bed with his coat and boots still on. Only his hat lay on the side table. He went in there to say goodbye, but found he didn't dare to wake him and tell him about the plan. He left the room without words and only gave Eleanor a small nod when he opened the front door to go and get his horse ready, the rest of the gang following him. Only Frank remained, looking quite offended and upset.

Her mother, awakened by the sound of horses getting saddled by a bunch of loud criminals, bustled into the room holding a quilt around her shoulders. "what is going on in here? Where are they going?" Eleanor gazed out of the window, watching the gang take off, whistling and urging their horses as they took off into the distance on breakneck speed. "They're leaving" she said. Her mother looked confused and then noticed Frank sitting on the couch, chewing on his hair. "and why is he still here?" she asked. "He's staying, just like Mr. Cavendish is staying, mother. They'll be back in a week"

Frank got up from the couch, wringing his hands together nervously as he addressed the older woman. "Please don't make me sleep with them horses, ma'm. ahm scared of them rats" he said. Eleanor's mother simply stared at him like he just turned green before turning to her daughter. "you mean to say that animal is still in my house?" Eleanor sighed and nodded, crossing her arms in front of her chest, she was starting to get rather cold. "That animal is very sick, mother. He would die out there. I gave him some of your laudanum, if that's alright" she said. Her mother opened her mouth to say something, but closed it again and pursed her lips instead. "You might have asked my permission to give it to him before actually doing it. What's the point in asking me when you already gave it?" she said angrily. "and you!" she continued, turning to Frank, who gave her a terrified look in return. "I expect you to be on your best behaviour when you're in a house with two ladies, did I make myself clear? Or you'll find yourself locked up in the gear room where we keep the horses' feeding, and there's an awful lot of rats in there, understood?" he nodded frantically and sat back down, making himself as small as possible.

"well I suppose I'll just have to settle with the fact I've got two more mouths to feed the coming week. Cause you people aren't decent enough to negotiate with" mother said, giving Frank a displeasing look that he returned in looking like a boy getting scolded for stealing cookies. He wrung his hands together nervously, not liking it when someone was angry with him. "well, Ma'm. Butch don't eat a lot.. if it matters. He can drink water like a horse though, fill himself right up and all. I tried it myself once, but my tummy started aching" he said, looking sad.

The older woman gave him one last look before turning on her heels and marching off to find some pillows and a blanket for the young criminal. If he was going to occupy the couch, he needed a little more than just that, and she wasn't one to treat guests badly, whether they were criminals or not.

Another moan came from Butch' room and both Frank and Eleanor looked over their shoulders. "ah never saw him like this. Kinda frightening really. Where's yer pa?" Frank asked, looking up at Eleanor. She swallowed thickly, avoiding his eyes. "dead" she said simply. "he got sick, three years now" the young man looked like he was going to say something, but he changed his mind and decided to shut his mouth, that was usually what the rest of the gang preferred in him anyway. "where's your family?" Eleanor asked. He shrugged, shuffling his feet on the wooden floor. "Idaho. But the gang is my family now. Ah wouldn't know what to do without Butch" he confessed, a little embarrassed, looking at the door to Butch' room again.

"well how about finding a decent job and try to be a decent man?" Eleanor said. The young man didn't seem all that violent, just young and sort of ignorant. "ah don't think Butch would like it very much if ah did that. He wouldn't want to be mah friend anymore" was his reply. An unusual friendship she wasn't so sure even existed. Butch didn't seem like the type of man entertaining friendships with people. "is he gonna die?" he asked, looking up at her pleadingly. She bit her bottom lip and sighed, she didn't know if the outlaw would make it. Her father was the strongest man she knew, and he had succumbed to his illness within days. But Frank looked like such a lost boy, she didn't dare slapping him in the face with the truth. "sure he will. I'm sure he survived worse than this. Gunshots and all, right?" she said, trying to smile. He thought for a moment on that one. Did Butch ever got shot? "ah know he fell off his horse once and got right back up! Didn't even have a scratch, no sir!" Frank said proudly, shaking his head and smiling. She chuckled at his antics. "well there you have it. He's a tough guy, he'll be alright"

Her mother returned soon after, handing Frank a few pillows and blankets which he accepted gratefully. "and now no more word from you until you hear that rooster outside" she told him and he nodded frantically. "you too, Elly" she continued, addressing her daughter. Eleanor didn't feel like sleeping anymore. Yet when the rooster finally started announcing morning, she felt herself doze off.

I absolutely adore Frank, can you tell?


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

When Eleanor woke up, her mother was no longer beside her in the bed. Warm sunrays fell on her face and she slowly started realizing it was almost noon. The sun couldn't be this warm in the morning, not this time of year. She sat up in bed and listened, afraid the gang had returned and had decided to shoot everybody except her. But she calmed when she heard her mother's demanding voice outside and the water pump being operated. "come on now, put your back into it! A young man like you should know how to handle a little water pump!" it seemed like her mother had decided to put Frank to work. Good, they could use the extra pair of hands.

She got up and dressed, listening to any other sounds. Only grandpa's rocking chair on the front porch gave it's familiar squeak. No sound coming from Butch' room. Fearing he hadn't lasted the night, she peered around his doorway. His position had slightly changed, but not much. One of his legs hung over the side of the bed. He slept in utter silence. She knew it was dangerous to wake him, the gang had warned her about it several times. But he wouldn't survive if he kept sleeping like a hibernating bear.

"Mr. Cavendish?"

No answer, he didn't even stir. She walked up to the bed silently to get a closer look. Simply sleeping, his face looked a lot less menacing and dangerous. His breathing was slightly laboured due to his pained abdomen, she had seen it in worm infected livestock before. She noticed his bedroom window was open, he had probably vomited a couple of more times during the night. She felt a pang of sympathy rising up for the ailing criminal. Now without his gang, vulnerable and at the mercy of people he didn't know.

"You always sleep with your boots on?" she said, more to herself than to him when she noticed he hadn't taken off his boots at all. Carefully, she tried to pull them off, not wanting to wake him right now. The first one went without a reaction, the second one made his eyes twitch a little, as if he was feeling something from beyond the world of dreams and didn't like it. She placed the boots next to the bed and thought about what to do next.

"I know what it's like to feel like you want to sleep forever. It just hurts too much when you're awake" she started, not knowing if he could hear her or not. "but I don't believe your dreams are that much better than reality. After all you've done, all you are, there must be something haunting you when you close your eyes" she continued. He let out a big sigh, but there was no reply to meet her, so she decided to turn and leave.

"dangerous to go and wake sleepin' dogs" she spun around on her heels to the sound of his voice, hoarse and raw from the depths of sleep. He was looking at her with one eye opened. "especially for a gurl like yerself" she got over her shock to see him awake quickly and tried to look defiant in his dangerous state of awareness. "You're no dog, sir. And you cannot expect me to let you sleep in my bedroom until you die of dehydration and starvation" she said and watched as he tried to pull himself in a sitting position, only to fall back down crying out in pain. "Ray!" he yelled, calling out for his sidekick. "Ray! Git over here!"

It was Frank who stormed into the bedroom with a panicked look on his face. He was wearing one of her father's old shirts. Mother had apparently decided to give him some clean clothes before putting him to work on the ranch.

"It's alright, Butch! Ye calm down now, aint nothing to be yellin' about" Frank tried to calm his leader, but to none avail. Butch reached out and grabbed the front of Frank's shirt, pulling him close to his face. "where's Ray?! Git Ray!" he snarled and let go, causing Frank to stumble back. "He aint here, Butch! Ray left with the others last night. They're coming back in a week! Ah..ahm here" he smiled a little, pointing at himself. Butch let the news progress through his clouded, feverish mind. "where did they go?" he asked. Frank shrugged and shook his head, sitting down on the side of the bed, something Butch didn't seem to appreciate.

"Ah don't know. But these here folks aint so bad. They let ye stay till yer all better, aint that nice?" Frank asked, looking slightly hopeful that his leader would settle down in the current situation, but the older man just rolled his eyes and reached up to comb his long hair down. His movements were slow and it was obvious they cost him a lot of effort. "Go git me some water, ye stupid fool" the outlaw grumbled, pushing Frank off the bed. The young man shrieked and fell to the wooden floor. "Yes, Butch. Right away" he said, getting to his feet quickly and stumbling out of the room.

"He was very worried about you. He still is" Eleanor said. Butch looked up at the young woman standing at the foot end of the bed. "you.. you were here last night too. I recognize you. Don't ye have a fellar of yer own to bother late at night?" he sneered, hoping she would be offended and leave, but she simply crossed her arms and tilted her head at him. "I wouldn't have bothered you if you hadn't shattered our water pitcher and thrown up in our water basin" she shot back, but he shook his head. "No, no.. after that. Ye were the one talking, I recognize yer voice now" he explained, gazing at her curiously. "won't ye tell me what that was all about? Ah don't git a lot of ladies like yerself visiting me at night, so I kinda like to know what made ye enter this room" he went on, trying to chuckle, but he stopped when it hurt his abdomen.

Eleanor was confused, besides from giving him laudanum and getting a gun pointed at her, she hadn't spent any time with him in this room. "I wasn't here. I left after you pulled your gun out" she said. He narrowed his eyes and thought for a moment, he could have sworn she was there whispering in his ear, though he couldn't remember what she had said. He reached up and rubbed his tired eyes. "Ahm ailing, hallucinating like ah was bitten by a rattlesnake" he grumbled. "It's the fever, Mr. Cavendish, it does that. Once your fever breaks, the hallucinations disappear too" she told him, not wanting him to think he was losing his mind. "Oh, mah head" he complained, his arm over his eyes to block the light.

At that moment Frank entered the room holding a cup of water and a bowl of soup. "ah got yer water, Butch. And yer lunch. Mom made it fer you so ye better eat it, or yer in trouble" he chuckled nervously and placed the tray on his side table. "mom?" Butch asked, not removing his arm from his stinging eyes. "the hell yer talkin' about, Frank" Frank gulped and looked up at Eleanor for help, but she looked just as surprised. "well ah don't know what else te call her! And she don't correct me er nuthin'. So I just call Mrs. Mary Angela Hartley mom" the young man explained in exasperation. "Knucklehead" Butch mumbled, causing Frank to look rather offended.

"Frank! Are you done in there?! I need help with them cows!" Eleanor looked up when she heard her mother's demanding voice. Demanding enough to send Frank stumbling out of the room without saying anything else to his gang leader "comin' mom!" an awkward silence followed in the small bedroom. "got any more laudanum?" Butch asked eventually.

"After you've eaten, I'll get you some more" Eleanor said, picking up the tray and placing it on his legs, eventhough he was still laying down. "Ahm not hungry" she rolled her eyes, he was like a stubborn child. "Someone of your age should know you have to eat in order to get better, Mr. Cavendish. It's only chicken broth, it smells good" she said, stirring the bowl. He swallowed thickly, feeling nauseous enough without the bowl of chicken broth on his lap. "ah don't want to smell it either" he grumbled. "if you hold your breath you won't taste or smell it" Eleanor suggested. He removed his arm from his eyes to give her a dangerous glare and very gingerly pulled himself into a sitting position. Sweat trickled down his face as he leaned back against the headboard and looked around for a moment, catching his breath. She gave him a sympathetic look when their eyes met.

"You really don't feel good, do you? I would have hoped you'd feel a little better today" she said. He reached out with a trembling hand to pick up the glass of water and drank a few careful sips. He hadn't realized how thirsty he was. She listened to the sounds of his upset stomach and hoped he would keep this water down. He needed to get some fluids into his system and preferable something nutritious too. "you think you can handle the broth?" she asked. He eyed the bowl suspiciously, not sure if he could keep it down. "I promise to give you something for the pain and let you sleep after this" she urged. He reached out and pulled the tray closer, grabbing the spoon. "ye better hold on to that promise" he grumbled and took a small spoonful of broth. The noises in his stomach intensified and he closed his eyes momentarily when he felt it sting, but nothing came back up and so he kept eating.

It was a small victory for Eleanor. The sooner he'd get better, the sooner he'd leave. And she didn't think the gang would take it lightly if they returned after a week to find their leader in a coffin either. He had to get better, one way or the other, to keep her family and herself safe and the ranch intact. He worked his way through the broth bravely and finished the both with slight difficulty and placed the empty bowl back on the tray, giving her a wary look. "Now git me that laudanum" he growled. She smiled and got up from the bed, proud of her patient. She went into her mother's room to open her medicine box and pulled out the bottle of laudanum. For a moment she was distracted by the view from the window. Her mother teaching Frank how to properly scrub down a pig. She chuckled at the sight of Frank chasing one of their squealing young hogs with a brush. It had been a while since she had heard her mother laugh that hard.

When she entered Butch' room, he had dozed off, snoring lightly like some men do after they had a good meal. In some strange way, it was an endearing sight and she decided not to disturb him. she placed the vial of medication on his side table, covered him with a quilt laying on the bed and left the room quietly.


	5. Chapter 5

chapter 5 is up. Thanks for all the wonderful reviews :)

Frank talked to horses. And he did so very frequently and without shame. Later that afternoon, when Eleanor entered the stables to feed the goats, she saw Frank brushing the dark bay mare that belonged to Butch. "There's a good girl, Anabell. Yer so pretty" after recovering from her first amazement, she cleared her throat to announce her presence. Both horse and boy looked up. "He called her Anabell?" she asked. He shook his head. "naw, I did. He don't name no horses, so I do it for him. This is Anabell and that piece of work over there is mah stallion Bobby" he explained, pointing in the direction of the chestnut horse. "I presume they weren't come by the honest way" Eleanor said, chuckling softly.

"Bobby didn't like his other master, miss. He hit him. And Anabell looks after Butch real good, so she must like him" Frank spoke in his own defence. Still chuckling, Eleanor reached out for a strand of hair from Anabell's manes and started braiding it. "hand me that piece of blue ribbon, will you?" she told Frank, who stared at her actions curiously. "what ye doin' to her?" he asked, handing her the ribbon from a little box next to the brushes. "Mr. Cavendish is going to have the prettiest horse around these parts when he's ready to leave" she stated simply, braiding another strand. After a few moments of silence, Frank broke out in excited giggling. "he sure aint gonna like none of this, miss. We'll be in so much trouble" he laughed, starting on Anabell's dark colored tail. Eleanor simply smiled to herself and shrugged. "we can always braid his hair too to match her own"

An hour later, Anabel looked perfectly ridiculous with her manes and tail in blue ribbon tied braids, but she herself didn't care and she was happy to be lead out to the corral to stretch her legs. Admiring their pointless work, Eleanor and Frank gazed at the frolicking horse. "can ye keep a secret real well?" Frank asked her. Eleanor looked up at him, raising her eyebrows in question. "why that depends on the secret" she said. He nodded in agreement, fair enough. "Don't tell Butch but.. ah don't really want them all te come back and git us. Ah like it here. Reminds me of home" the young man spoke. She smiled and nudged his shoulder with her own. "I knew you'd enjoy scrubbing hogs and cleaning out stables. My mother knows a rancher's son when she sees one" she laughed.

Frank blushed and rubbed the back of his head. "mah pa had them pigs, but he aint never scrubbed them clean. They smelled like regular pigs. Yer pigs are ladies pigs" he said, making her laugh. She agreed he had a point. The farm was run by women, and so it had a feminine touch to it. Despite her present situation, she found herself to be more relaxed than she had been in months. She wasn't sure it was because of the presence of an extra pair of hands on the ranch, or the fact that Butch had shown atleast some form of cooperation this morning. It could very well mean she and her family might just survive this yet.

Inside the house, mother had decided to defend the few fine things she owned, her French linen sheets. "I'm not going anywhere until you rollover and let me get them sheets, Mr. Cavendish. I don't care if you point a gun at me or not. They were a wedding present from my good father in law and I won't see them get spoiled any longer!" despite talking into the barrel of Butch' revolver, the older lady stood her ground, holding on to one corner of the sheet he was laying on. "ye git out" the outlaw grumbled, still not favouring any movement. "you get yourself a proper bath first and put a fresh shirt on and then I'll decide whether you can use my sheets or not" the woman spat back and tugged hard on the sheet. He didn't weigh much, she could pull him off the bed if she tried. He cocked his gun in warning, but he wasn't sure if he'd hit her even when she was standing so close to him. his vision was blurry and the pounding in his head got worse by the minute.

The gunshot could be heard inside the stables, startling the horses. It took Frank and Eleanor a few seconds to process what they had just heard before they both started running back to the house. Perhaps grandpa had finally decided to blow Butch to pieces with his shot gun. But all they found when they arrived at the scene, was mother holding her soiled sheet and Butch laying on the floor holding his gun. Frank looked at the smouldering fresh hole in the wooden door and blinked. "ye killed the door, Butch" he said. "he tried to shoot me when I took the sheet. But he can't even aim right! And you're telling me they're willing to pay me 3000 dollars for his hide?" Mother huffed and marched out of the room, holding her price tightly to her chest.

Very gingerly, Butch pulled himself up from the floor, ignoring Eleanor's extended hand and sat down on the side of the bed. He held his head and groaned, trying to steady himself and get rid of the dizziness and building nausea. "fresh sheets would probably be best anyway" Eleanor said, trying to lift the mood a little. "and perhaps you should consider changing into something more comfortable for sleeping. I could give you one of my father's shirts or nightclothes. They fit Frank, they probably fit you too" she went on, but he didn't reply. He simply couldn't speak while concentrating on keeping down his breakfast. That and he had nothing to say to this milk and honey prairie sweetheart that was getting on his nerves more and more. Frank sat down on the bed next to his leader and looked at him worryingly. "how ya feelin' Butch? Any better?" he asked, but Butch shook his head and pulled himself up from the bed, holding on to the wall while slowly walking out of the room. "ah need some air" he groaned.

Outside on the porch, grandpa was still standing watch, holding his shotgun and chewing his tobacco while sitting in his creaking rocking chair. He looked up when the front door opened and Butch stepped outside, taking a deep breath. Again the old man made the statement of spitting out his tobacco in front of Butch' feet, and again Butch knew that if he had felt any better he would have rammed that rocking chair right into that old bastard's face. "nice te see ye again too, oldtimer" he simply said and leaned on the porch' wooden railing, glad to be outside for a spell. "ah don't like it anymore than you do, ah can tell ye that" Butch went on. Inhaling some fresh air and have the cool autumn wind in his face made him feel a little better, a little more in the world of the living. Deep down inside he knew he was very sick, but no one else needed to know that. If Ray dared to show his face here after a week, he'd let him know just how stupid his idea had been, aching belly or not.

While letting out an unattractive belch because his stomach was starting to protest standing up, he caught sight of his horse in the corral. Her manes and tail in braids with light colored ribbon. He narrowed his eyes, was that his horse? "whut te hell?" he mumbled. Behind him, the door opened and closed and Eleanor came up beside him, her arms crossed over her chest. She followed his gaze and couldn't help but chuckle. "sometimes a lady likes to dress up, you know" she said. He looked at her, unamused. "did ye do that to mah horse?" she shrugged, still smiling. "me and your friend. We figured we could give you matching braids too" she answered. He huffed. "not if ye favour yer hands" he mumbled. "so how are you feeling? Or are we still in a state of ignoring eachother's existence?" she went on and asked, leaning her back against the railing so she could study his face. His eyes scanned the prairie horizon, avoiding her gaze. "I mean, you're on your feet. That's a good sign" she continued and sighed when there was still no reply from him. "who are they?" he asked. Confused, she followed his gaze toward the horizon.

Four men on horseback approached the ranch in a slow trot. "Oh for the love of.. " she said. Grandpa cocked his shotgun in silence. "You need to get back inside, they can't see you" she told Butch. He didn't move and finally made eye contact with her, giving her a sly smile. "ah yea? And why is that?" he asked. "they're with the railroad. They've been pestering us since last winter. They want our land and we've been refusing it ever since. Now please get back inside!" she begged him. Tauntingly slowly, he raised himself up to his full height and moved passed her back into the house, chuckling when he bumped her shoulder in the process.

The four men halted in front of her porch. The youngest, a fine suited man with a light moustache, took off his expensive hat in greeting. "Goodday, miss Hartley, aint it lovely weather to be ignoring your ranch and standing on your front porch wishing for a husband?" he sneered. "what do you want, Elton?" she spat back. The young man smiled and looked at his fellow agents. "well I think that's mighty clear, Eleanor dear. Now where's your lovely mother? We was wondering if she has reconsidered our offer yet?" he said. At that moment, mother Hartley came through the frontdoor holding a rifle and aimed it at the four men. "Git off my land!" she yelled. Three of them reached to pull out their guns, but Elton raised his hands. "now hold on gentlemen, I know Mrs. Hartley over here don't mean nothing by it. Come now, ma'm, better save those bullets for the coyotes coming after your chickens, don't you think? Let's try to talk this through in a more..civilized manner" he said.

"you turn your horses around and tell your master I aint selling one piece of this land for his trains! Never!" Mother said, not lowering her rifle. The young man sighed and adjusted himself in his saddle, getting frustrated. "Now listen here, Mrs. Hartley. You can't win this. And I've been very kind to you the past few months but you can't keep this up. We'll get this land the decent way or we'll have to go by.. more drastic.. methods" he slowly ended his sentence. "meaning?" Eleanor asked, but the young man just smiled at her kindly. "why let's not go into details while there's still time to simply sell us the land and walk away unscathed with a good sum of money and all be on your way. Move to the city, buy some new dresses" he said. "you'll be the one needing dresses once I blow off your manhood right through your horse's head" Mother said, cocking her rifle. Elton curled his moustache in anger and placed his hat back on. "this was your last warning, Mrs. Hartley. I'm very sorry to conclude there's no talking to you about this matter. We wanted to do this peacefully and in a decent, civilized manner. But I suppose you country folk understand only one language. You'll hear from me again, soon" he said, turning his horse. The four men rode off and mother finally lowed her rifle, tears welling up in her eyes.

Eleanor reached out to her but she shrug off her daughter and went back into the house. Grandpa shakenly got up from his chair and spat over the railing, as if the four men were still right in front of him. He yelled some incoherent words, but Eleanor knew they weren't anything a good Christian was supposed to hear anyway. Perhaps God himself gave the old man a stroke to stop his endless cussing. Somehow she knew this was a hopeless case. Elton was right about something, you can't win from the railroad. They owned almost everything and what didn't come to them easily, they took with force. Their ranch would be no different.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

hope you enjoy!

Inside, mother had retreated to her favorite part of the house, the kitchen. And refused to speak to anyone. "what was that all about?" Frank asked innocently, sitting on the couch and giving Eleanor a slightly scared look when she came back in. The young woman opened her mouth to say something, but she didn't know where to start. "progress, Frank.. the railroad" Butch spoke from a corner of the small livingroom. He was peering through the curtains, following the men as they rode off into the distance. "they want the ranch, damn sharks" Eleanor finally said. "Take the money and go" Butch said, turning to give the girl a quick look. "ah know for a fact that the man holding the reins in the railroad business don't bend for anyone" he continued. "he aint very patient either"

Eleanor frowned. "Mister Cole? What has he got to do with this? Elton is the real problem here. I'm pretty sure mister Cole wouldn't allow these methods if he knew about it" she said. The sick criminal huffed. "if you say so, little miss shark" he said and retreated back to his bedroom to lay down. "does anyone want pumpkin soup?!" mother said, holding up a large, steaming pan. Her eyes red and puffy from crying, tears still rolling down her face. "I made it this morning. We should eat.. we should live. Life goes on, that's what pa always said to us. Life goes on" the woman rattled on, grabbing bowls left and right to serve everybody a bowl of soup. "mother, please. Sit down. Everything will be alright" Eleanor reached out to take the woman's arm, trying to get her to sit at the dinnertable, but she was shrugged off once again. "and skip supper?! Oh no! not for the life of me! I won't live any other way just because some men in tall hats tell me I should! Come here, boy!" Frank was at her side in a second and two bowls of soup were forced in his hands. "take this to your friend, off you go! And tell him I don't wash half empty plates!" The young outlaw nodded frantically and hurried off as fast as he could without spilling his soup.

"mother" Eleanor tried. "we will find a way to keep the ranch. I promise you. Even if we have to fight them off, we will! Grandpa can shoot.. God knows I can. Father taught me, remember?" the older woman finally sat down and started crying silently in her handkerchief. Eleanor hated to see her mother cry. There was no evil in this woman, she didn't deserve any of this. Nor Elton's treatment, nor caring for two criminals. "that is not what I raised a daughter for! Shooting at the government!" her mother sobbed.

Inside Butch' bedroom, Frank watched his leader spoon down his soup while staring at the wall in front of him. The young outlaw found it hard to swallow anything at the moment, since there were two crying women in the adjoining room. "ah find it mighty sad for miss and mrs. Hartley they gon' lose the ranch, Butch" he said. His leader gave him a quick look from the corner of his eyes and grunted. "where are they supposed to go?" Frank continued. Butch shrugged, shoving another spoonful of soup into his mouth. No one seemed to notice he was eating it without threatening to shoot someone first, that seemed to have been a big deal only yesterday. Today other problems had surfaced. "can't we go kill this man Elton?" the young criminal finally asked. Now Butch lowered his spoon and turned his head to meet Frank's hopeful gaze. "I ain't killin' anyone for no one, ye got that, Frank?" Frank nodded frantically. "ah can do it, Butch! Ye don't have te do anythin'!" he offered. "now listen here, boy. Ye go and kill a railroad man and I swear I'll shoot ye myself" Butch replied, giving him a stern gaze. Frank frowned in confusion. "but why, Butch? We don't like them railroad men.. do we?" But his gang leader was done with the conversation and refused to say no more.

Later that afternoon, Eleanor decided to check up on the two criminals. It seemed Butch had dozed off after his lunch once more, and Frank was trying to read to him, sitting in a chair next to the bed. "how is he?" she asked. Frank looked up and smiled at her before peering at his sleeping chief. "ah think he's doin' much better than yesterday, miss Eleanor" he said. "get this idiot out of my bedroom" grumbled Butch, clearly not asleep at all. "he's reading to me while holding that damn book upside down, so it don't make no sense what he's saying" Eleanor couldn't help but laugh watching Frank turn the book around quickly. "ah was thinkin'.. this is a strange story myself but.. ah don't read very well so" the young criminal said. "I'm sorry, Butch"

"put down that book and git out" Butch growled, turning his back toward the crowd. Frank stumbled over his feet while trying to leave the room as fast as he could, but Eleanor staid. "How are you feeling?" she asked softly and sat down in the chair. "None of yer goddamn business" was his gruff reply. "well, I think it is, since I am the one taking care of you. How is your stomach?" she asked.

"still there.."

"you kept your soup inside, that's a good thing. I think it's making progress" the young woman said, trying to smile.

"uhu"

His replies were too short and not hostile enough to be normal, and she started worrying. She got up and walked around the bed so she could see his face. "Mr. Cavendish, please talk to me. I know something is going on. I can't help you if you won't tell me" she said, kneeling down beside the bed to look him in the eyes. They were red and hazy, like he was getting overheated. She reached out to touch his forehead to check for fever, but he recoiled and growled, moving away from her hand.

"Git away from me!"

"You're burning up! Your fever has spiked! Mother!" the girl got to her feet and ran out, leaving the outlaw to flinch at her loud voice. His head was killing him, but he wouldn't tell them that. Maybe he should tell Frank, so the kid could get him some laudanum. Maybe that would be a good idea. But before he had the chance to muster the strength to call for Frank, Eleanor had returned with her unamused mother.

"there is no peace in this house as long as you two refuse to communicate!" Mrs. Hartley spoke, pulling the blankets off Butch roughly. "get up, you lazy dog! In the tub with you before you lose your wits! Frying your brain like that won't make you look any tougher, it just makes you look stupid!" the older woman had proven once again she didn't fear the devil himself. And right now, he was too sick to argue and got to his feet shakenly. "where's Frank?" he mumbled, as the room turned before his eyes. "Making himself useful in the stables. You don't think I let him lie in bed all day like I do with you? There's nothing wrong with him! Now off you go" Mother said, her sharp voice cutting through his painful head. He had to hold on to the walls to not fall down, and when his legs finally gave out completely, Eleanor grabbed him around his thin waist and held him up. If he had felt any better, he would have pushed her away, but right now he had to admit he was grateful of her help.

Mother had already half-filled the old, rusty tub with cold water when they arrived in the bathroom. "Take off your shirt and pants" the older woman said without looking at him. Butch raised an eyebrow and looked at the young girl, her arms still wrapped around his waist in support. "well, little miss shark, yer welcome to stay of course" he mumbled, trying to sound as sly as possible in his current state. She let go of him so abruptly, he had to cling on to the doorpost to not collapse right there. "Eleanor Christina Angela Hartley! That is not how you treat a sick person!" her mother said, causing Eleanor to open her mouth to protest, but one look of her mother rendered her quiet and she left with stamping feet. Butch chuckled as she passed by, reaching up to unbutton his shirt.

"ah must say, ma. You do one hell of a job raising that there little hellcat. Ye sure ye can handle me too?" he spoke softly, placing his shirt on a chair. "I've washed the farm dog before, I don't think you'll be much different" was her reply. He huffed in agitation and almost fell over twice getting out of his dusty pants. "now get into that tub and don't let me hear any of that complaining about cold water, mister outlaw. I'll get that fever out of you, even if I have to keep you in that tub all night long" she continued.

When Frank returned from the stables, he found Eleanor sitting on the couch with her arms crossed across her chest. "did he say sumthin' mean to you, miss Eleanor?" he asked. "he don't like bein' sick, ah think" she shook her head and gave him a slight smile. "he's not doing very well, Frank. He's got a serious fever. Mother took over, she's better at fighting fevers than me" she said. The young man frowned and sat down next to her. "ah thinks yer a very good nurse, miss Eleanor. Butch is just a grumpy old man sometimes. Ah knows he's grateful for all you and ma did for him. ah knows ah am" he tried to cheer her up. He would have said more if a clap of thunder hadn't startled them both. Outside the dog started barking and grandfather started yelling incoherent words again.

"there's a storm coming. Grandpa thinks it's going to rain all night" Eleanor spoke bluntly, getting a surprised look from Frank. "is that what he said?" he asked. She nodded and sighed, like it was the most normal thing in the world to understand the gibberish of an old man. "ah don't like storms" Frank said, looking at the window worriedly. "If I have to sleep outside during a storm, I wouldn't like them either. When I'm inside I like the sound of the pouring rain on the roof" she said.

"we sleep under our horses when it rains. But horses tend to move around when they stand, so ye git wet no matter what" Frank said, causing Eleanor to giggle at the thought of a few outlaws moving around to the position of their horses to shelter from the rain. "ye think mother would let me see Butch?" he asked. "I don't think she'd try to stop you. I doubt he's in an amiable mood knowing he's in a tub of cold water, though" Eleanor chuckled. At that moment, mother entered the living room and went straight to the kitchen. Frank got up to his feet and followed her around while she grabbed a pan and put it on the stove. "How is he? Is he really cold?" the older woman manoeuvred herself around the curious young criminal and pointed at the top shelf. "get me that one, you beanstake" she said. He looked up at a row of liquor bottles. "ah don't think his belly would be really happy with that right now, ma" he said, rubbing his chin. "what are you talking about?! I'm not going to serve him a drink! Now get me that bottle of rum over there!" he quickly did as he was told, standing on the tips of his toes to reach the shelf. "ah don't think alcohol is the answer, ma'm. ah know Butch can be a real handful but ah don't think he's causing you te drink, does he?" he asked, handing her the bottle of rum.

Mother only huffed and mumbled something about young men not receiving the proper raising they need. She poured the rum in a pan to heat it up and stirred in it contently. Frank peered in the pan, his brain working overtime to figure out what the older woman was planning on. "is this goin' te make him better?" he asked. "He'll be sweating out the fever tonight, that's for darn sure" mother replied. "just ask Eleanor herself. She was only a wee little thing when she got the bad cough that strikes these parts every winter. Put a pan of hot rum under her bed and wrapped her in blankets I did, and she was right as rain in the morning" Frank's jaw had dropped at the story. "no more coughing?" he peeped. Mother shook her head and smiled at him. "not one little huff"

It seemed like someone had just unravelled a magic trick in front of Frank's eyes, the look of amazement on his face was almost comical and certainly endearing. "so we're goin' to wrap Butch in blankets now?" he went on. "are you volunteering?" mother joked, laughing as she watched him shake his head quickly, his eyes turning to saucers. "he aint the cuddlin' type, ah tried" he said. "you don't need to cuddle him, you silly boy! Eleanor, go check on his fever. He shouldn't be in that tub for too long or we'll kill him with a lung infection. Very effective against outlaws" mother spoke, giving Frank a stern look, who in turn paled.

Eleanor was less than thrilled with her chore, but she couldn't leave everything to her mother. She peered around the doorway into the bathroom and saw Butch shivering in the tub, his knees up to his chin and his arms wrapped around his legs. He looked perfectly miserable with his long, greying hair in wet strands covering most of his face. She decided to try and handle this like her mother would do. "alright, time to get out of that water. We don't want you to catch cold" she said, walking into the bathroom and grabbing a towel from the chair. He looked up at her slowly, shivering like a wet kitten, but his eyes ever warning his surroundings to not come any closer. "and here ah was thinkin' ah had seen the last of little miss shark" he spoke with a trembling voice. "no you have not, unfortunately" she replied, her gaze going over the many scars covering his body. His back looking like he had been lashed with a whip, or a belt.

"ah suppose our lady over here never saw a man in his drawers before, ahm ah right?" he asked, giving her a sly grin. "all these scars.." she mumbled, unaware she was talking out loud. He raised his eyebrows and rested his chin on his knees, still peering up at her. "aint polite to stare, little miss shark. Ahm sure yer momma told ye that. Let's talk about them scars some other time, when ahm not freezing mah nuts off" he said, waking her from her trance. "yes, of course.. my apologies" she said and handed him the towel. Very gingerly he raised himself up and wrapped the towel around his body tightly.

Mother came in when he was buttoning up the clean shirt Eleanor had handed to him, one that had belonged to her father. "how's your head, mister outlaw?" she asked and walked up to him to feel his forehead. "still warm, but no longer spiking. Off to bed with you" he seemed too tired to argue or sneer, for he just nodded and slowly made his way back to his bedroom where he practically collapsed onto the bed. "Get the winter furs, Elly" Mother instructed her daughter. Eleanor opened the large wooden chest in a corner of the room and revealed some finely prepared buffalo furs. "Now these belonged to my dear father in law, mister outlaw. So you know how privileged you are that I allow you to use them for tonight" Mother spoke sternly, placing the furs on Butch' bed.

Frank had been silently watching from the doorway how the two women tried to aid his ailing leader as much as they could. Once again, the young outlaw was torn between enjoying the company of the gang, and the voice in the back of his head telling him what they did was wrong. He had been nothing but an abandoned child before he met Butch, and so he basically owed his life to the vicious leader of the "Hole in the wall" gang. There were hardly any paternal feelings to be found in Butch, but Frank knew the others had been ordered to keep an eye on the youngest member. Ray had taught him how to handle a gun. Jesus had taught him how to ride a horse and Butch had taught him to shut up and do as he was told.

He was shaken from his thoughts when mother pushed him aside. "Move yourself out of the doorway, boy! You're in my way!" she said, and returned with a steaming pan of rum moments later. The pan was placed underneath Butch' bed, who eyed it all suspiciously. "smells nice, can ah drink it?" he chuckled softly. Mother rounded on him. "you let that pan sit there and do its work, did I make myself clear, mister outlaw?! If you're well enough to drink, you're well enough to be on your feet and out of this house, let that be understood!" she turned to Eleanor and Frank. "you two can take turns on watching him tonight. I want to know his temperature every hour. I have to bring grandpa his dinner" she bustled out of the bedroom.

Another clap of thunder cracked through the sky, making the horses neigh in the stables. Frank rushed over to the bedside and shoved the chair as close to the bed as possible. "ah'll do it first, miss Eleanor. Ye did enough, ah think" he said, looking absolutely terrified. "knucklehead is scared o' thunder" Butch grumbled, rolling onto his back and stretching lazily. "whenever ah find him next te me in the mornin' ah know what the weather was like during the night" he chuckled. "not true!" Frank protested. Eleanor laughed and decided to leave the two to eachother's company and try to get some sleep.

NFTA (note from the author): Butch Cassidy's gang was called "the hole in the wall gang" and the rum method was actually used during these times.


	7. Chapter 7

7th chapter is up.

Read and review plz!

Chapter 7

She remembered what father used to say about autumn storms during the night. "the Lord has kittens during the fall. Like many cats have litters that time of year. And look at our cat, Elly. She comes alive at night. By morning, they will be sleeping in their little baskets by the fire, done running. Until another one of those nights come along" She wondered if she should tell Frank about God's kittens. The story made her less afraid of thunder when she was a little girl. She'd tell the kittens goodnight in ever bedtime prayer, until mother put a stop to it.

It was 2 in the morning when she woke up with a start. Had Frank gone to bed yet? She thought he would wake her when it was her time to sit with Butch. Wrapped in her blanket, she got out of bed, careful not to wake her mother and tiptoed down the narrow hall. "it's alright, Butch. Ahm with ye. Aint nuthin' gonna harm ye now" she heard Frank's voice say softly, as if he was trying not to wake the whole house. She peered around the doorway of the small bedroom and saw Frank holding Butch' hand, while the older criminal tossed and turned in his feverish nightmares. It was hard to imagine they were both infamous criminals with a good price on their heads if you saw them like this. She knew the Texas rangers were always on their trail. She decided to make her presence known when Butch started trashing around even more and Frank started to look like he was about to panic.

"How long has he been like this?" she spoke, stepping into the room. Frank didn't look up and shrugged. "ah fell asleep when ye left. Ah woke up because he was calling mah name. He had them bad dreams before but..ah aint never seen him like this.. not this bad" he said quietly. "ah don't know if ah should wake him. Ma always said not to wake people when they have them bad dreams"

"it's just the fever, Frank. He's sweating it out. Would you like some tea?" Eleanor offered, but the young man frowned and shook his head. "Not if that means ah have te leave his side now. Ah think he wants me here"

She approached the bed slowly to take a closer look at Butch. His breathing was heavy, like he barely got the amount of air he needed, and his forehead was covered in sweat. "he aint doin' too good, is he?" Frank asked, looking up at her sadly. She felt sorry for the young criminal who had to watch the only man that resembled a friend deteriorate more and more. "will he be alright?" was the next question she couldn't answer. Sometimes, Butch seemed to feel slightly better, and then came another setback. His body was fighting something heavy, and she didn't know if he was strong enough to live through it. He was so thin.

So she placed her hand on Frank's shoulder and squeezed in an attempt to comfort him. "I don't know" she replied in all honesty. Another bold of lightning ripped through the sky, lighting up the distant prairie for a split second. When the clap of thunder followed, Butch sat up straight in his bed, awakened by the sound. His eyes wide and his breathing heavy, as if he had just faced the most horrible demons you could imagine.

"where am I?" he said, looking around, his eyes not yet used to the dim light in the room. "ahm here, Butch. Ahm so glad yer awake, ye were dreaming" Frank peeped, keeping himself from hugging his gang leader. Butch' breathing slowly evened out as he grew calmer and he slowly laid back down in the pillows, rubbing his eyes.

"ahm dying" he suddenly said, causing Frank to look crestfallen. "wh..whut? no yer not! Ye'll be alright. Just a dream!" the young man protested, but Butch shook his head. "ahm pretty sick, Frank" Somehow Eleanor was starting to realize he didn't know she was in the room. She reached out to lit the oillamp on the nightstand to reveal her presence to the second outlaw that night. But even when locking eyes with her for a short moment, he didn't seem to care much. "gon' be hard te dig a hole in that there frozen ground, little miss shark" he spoke weakly. She shook her head and nodded at Frank, who was currently trying his best not to start crying. "don't say things like that now, mister Cavendish, please" she said. "I will go wake my mother"

"no!" Butch said firmly, shaking his head. "Ye won't wake anyone. Ah don't want anymore bustlin' about and dragging me from mah bed. Ahm good where ah am. Ye girls did all ye could" he continued, sending Frank even more into a frenzy. "stop yer wailing ye idiot" But the young man shook his head. "ah can't, Butch! Ah don't want ye te die. What do I tell Ray when he comes back and yer dead?"

The gang leader sighed deeply and reached up to smooth his hair back. With difficulty, he sat up a little and poked Frank's shoulder with a trembling hand. "Thunder suddenly don't seem that scary anymore, does it, boy?" he said, giving Frank a small smile when he looked up in surprise. He hadn't been paying attention to the storm at all since Butch got so bad. "aint nuthin' quite as scary as losing a friend, Butch" Frank spoke. The gang leader nodded in agreement and laid back down, making himself comfortable again. "why don't ye go make miss Hartley and me some tea? Go make yerself useful" he grumbled. Frank looked desperate, he didn't want to leave Butch' side, but orders were orders so he got up from the chair and shuffled out of the bedroom with a barely hearable "alright, Butch"

There was a short silence between Butch and the young woman. "you wanted him out of this room, didn't you?" she asked. He nodded, staring up at the ceiling. "Ah really don't feel good. Don't want anyone around. Especially not Frank" she frowned lightly. "you want me to go?" she asked. Another silence followed. "ye can stay, little miss shark" she sat down in Frank's chair, not really knowing what to do to offer comfort to the dangerous outlaw, but she didn't want to do nothing, or give him the idea she was afraid of him, so she reached out and took his hand, squeezing it lightly. He looked at her, raising one eyebrow and gave her a small smile. "ah knew ye'd git fond of me" she chuckled a little. "Just rest. I'll be here" she assured him, making him chuckle. "thought ye were sure a hard ass, miss Hartley. Buy ye seem to have a heart after all, hm?" he gave her a wink.

"Just sleep, mister Cavendish"

But he shook his head. "I aint goin' back there, if ye don't mind. Ah'll be awake for a bit" she nodded in understanding. Despite the way he felt, his dreams were worse. "Tell me about yerself. Got a feller walkin' around somewhere? Chasin' cows up and down a plain er somethin'?" he asked and laughed when she started blushing. "I'm not married, if that's what you're referring to" she replied. He gave her a wicked grin. "ah know yer not married, but that doesn't stop a lot a gals from keeping fellers" she huffed in offense. "I was raised better than that, mind you" she shot back. He nodded, still chuckling despite his exhaustion. "weren't we all"

Frank came back with a tray with three steaming cups of tea and placed it carefully on the small table next to the bed. His eyes still red and his cheeks still wet from crying, he handed Eleanor her cup and she quietly thanked him. Tears started rolling down his cheeks again when he handed Butch his cup.

"are ye feelin' any better?" he asked weakly, afraid of the answer. Butch gave him an irritated look. "not any better than 10 minutes ago, Frank. I don't know why either!" he shot back. Eleanor, feeling sorry for the young boy, placed her hand on his arm gently. "why don't you go lay on the couch and take some rest? I'll sit with mister Cavendish for now" she offered, but Frank shook his head again. "Do as the lady tells ye, go te sleep" ordered Butch. Frank crossed his arms in defiance, still refusing. "when ah wake up you'll be dead" he said, more tears rolling down his cheeks. "ah promise ah won't be, how about that?" Butch said, giving Eleanor a small look. "ye promise?" Frank asked, looking at his leader pleadingly. "Ah promise te do mah best" it seemed to be enough for Frank, for he turned around and left to collapse on the couch in the livingroom.

"I'm going out to get a doctor for you tomorrow. I believe my mother and I did all we could. You need someone who knows what to do" Eleanor spoke softly, looking at the gang leader sadly, but he shook his head. "ye ain't going out there with mah gang riding around these parts. Ah ain't there te keep that pack of dogs from tearing ye to shreds" he said. She tilted her head in curiosity. "Are you trying to protect me, mister Cavendish? That seems an odd development after threatening to kill me and my mother a couple of times" she said.

He smiled at her. "ah warned ye not te sneak up on sleeping dogs, but ye just had te come in here. What else is a poor criminal te do when he's used to everybody wanting te kill him?" he chuckled. "well I'm glad you figured out we mean you no harm. Us poor ranch ladies. We wouldn't stand a chance" she said. He laughed and spread his arms, presenting himself. "ah yea? Well look at me, ye got me on mah back in a pretty vulnerable position, little lady. Ah ain't even wearing pants and ah have honestly no idea where my gun went" he said with a chuckle, but he soon grew serious again and gazed at her for a while. "ah little kindness goes a long way, especially in these here parts. Aint many ranch ladies that would have done what you did, eventhough ye feel ye never had a choice, yer sitting here at mah bedside keeping me company. Ye made that choice, aint nobody forced ye te do something like that" he said, studying her as she lowered her gaze to her folded hands in her lap.

"ah aint gonna harm ye, miss Hartley. And nuthin' will be done te yer ranch when mah boys come back. So stop yer fretting. Ah had te listen to Frank's whining about yer lovely smile for two days now, and ah don't think ah've ever seen it myself. Ah aint good company when ahm jealous" he said, giving her his kindest smile, a rare thing to see. She blushed, but couldn't help but smile despite trying to avoid his eyes. "Ahh there it is.. that wasn't so hard was it? Ah'll sleep much better now" he said, making himself comfortable again and pulling the blankets up to his chin.

She listened to the rain on the rooftop and the other sounds from outside. A coyote howled in the distance, causing one of the horses to neigh in uneasiness. She studied the gang leader for a while, the scars on his worn face and his silver plated tooth. He looked more at ease than before, as if he felt more comfortable with his present situation. And eventhough it looked satisfying, it could also mean his body was preparing to shut down completely. She had seen it before, people seem to be more at peace with death waiting just around the corner. But for now she could still see the slow but laboured rise and fall of his chest.

She reached out to feel his forehead with the back of her hand ever so gently, she didn't know if he was asleep or not. He opened one eye to peer at her with a wary gaze when he felt her touch.

"Don't do that" he warned, not keen on being touched, especially when he didn't have his eyes open and was trying to sleep. "I have to check your fever every now and then" she said, giving him a small reassuring smile. "You're still very hot. Would you like a wet cloth on your forehead? It might help with the nightmares. It's quite possible they're caused by your brain getting overheated" he thought about the offer for a moment. He really didn't want to return to those images his fevered brain cooked up before. "alright" he mumbled and watched her as she wrung out a cloth above the wash basin. She reached out to brush a few strands of his long hair away from his brow before dabbing his skin gently. He flinched the first few times she came so close to him, not used to being touched in such a tender matter, but he got used to it soon enough and tried to relax.

"what happened to your lip?" she asked. He stared at her for a moment, but she didn't meet his gaze, too occupied with dabbing his neck. "ah got mah ass kicked rather bad when ah was 12" he grumbled, embarrassed. She stopped for a moment and met his gaze, a shocked expression on her face. "12? Who treats a 12 year old so roughly that this happened?"

"mah pa was a mean old mister"

She could only stare at him in pure bewilderment. "Your..your father did that to you?" she asked. He nodded and shrugged a little. "slammed an empty whiskey bottle in mah face. Ah probably deserved it, ah don't remember why he did it" he said matter of factly, like it was nothing to be concerned about, like it happened every day in the world he grew up in. "so where's yer old man?" he asked her, trying to change the subject. She was too shocked to reply right away and needed a few moments to collect her bearings.

"He passed away a few years ago after a short period of sickness. Mother says he died of the cough. I had it when I was a child but.. I survived" she said while refreshing the cloth in the wash basin. "he taught me how to fire a gun" at that he chuckled. "ah bet he did"

"people didn't think it suitable for a woman to know how to fire a gun, so I don't flaunt that particular skill" she continued, fumbling her hands together in nervousness. "ain't suitable for a woman to do a lot of things. Hiding a wanted criminal for example, don't fall too good with the law either" he chuckled, his eyes still closed. There was a short silence between the two.

"so what are you two ladies going te do about keeping this ranch away from the railroad? Ah know ye aint gonna sell it anytime soon, are ye? And those four nice suits will return fer sure" he said.

She thought for a moment, what were they going to do? "I don't know, mister Cavendish. I don't know what can be done. I know it would break my mother's heart to lose this ranch. Father's parents build it with their own bare hands. I even believe my grandmother carried my pa in her belly when they were still putting a roof on this place. You came at the right time, if you had gotten sick a year later, we might have not been here to take care of you" she said. "there wouldn't have been no ranch or ladies to take over and demand things from"

"well don't ye go do them stupid things and fight with the railroad, little miss shark. I know ye got a nice row of teeth, but that aint gonna do ye much good this time. Take it from me. Ah know these boys. They're tough as nails, they won't back down. They get paid too much te back down" he said, giving her a stern look. She could only look back in surprise and confusion.

"You know them?"

He rolled his eyes. "well not personally. But ah've seen the mess they can leave behind when a rancher's family refused to give up their land. This ranch will be nothing but a smouldering heap of ash, and you and your mother.. ye think they will let ye just go and ride into the sunset once they come over te claim it for real?!" he said, raising his voice a little more each time. Was this girl daft?

"welcome te the real world, miss shark!" he fell back into his pillows panting. The whole speech had taken a lot from him.

"well why would you care? Once you're better, you'll be the one riding off into the sunset. Isn't that so, mister Cavendish?" she asked softly, straightening the covers of his bed and refreshing the cool cloth on his forehead in an attempt to calm him down.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8 is ready! Thanks to all the wonderful reviews, follows and favs! They inspire me to keep writing. Little bit of action is coming your way. I finally decided where I want this story to go. Hope you enjoy!

When Eleanor woke up, her head was resting on the soft winter furs and the bed was empty. Butch was nowhere to be seen. His clothes and boots were gone too, and the only thing that betrayed his previous stay in her bedroom was his gun on the nightstand. So he hadn't left. He wouldn't leave without his revolver, she thought. Something heavy and warm that was placed around her shoulders, slid to the floor when she sat up. One of the furs had been wrapped around her.

Smoothing the hair from her face and rubbing the sleep from her eyes she stretched. Her back aching softly from her uncomfortable sleeping position. Warm rays of a newborn autumn sun fell through the window panels, making dust particles dance around the small room. It was still early. She doubted if mother was even up yet. The house didn't smell like freshly prepared breakfast, so the older woman was probably still sleeping.

She wrapped the fur around her shoulders and decided to go look for the previous occupant of the bed. When she entered the living room she was greeted by a sleepy dog, unsteady on its old legs from just getting up. Frank lay sprawled out on the couch, snoring lightly. One of the cats had rolled up on his stomach and looked quite content with her new sleeping spot.

The house was remarkably quiet. The seemingly never ending prairie surrounding their lands was as silent as a graveyard in the early hours of the morning. As if the sun had to warm up the frozen lands and bring everything back to life again with its glow.

The only sound that reached her ears were the birds announcing the first light had been seen and the familiar creaking of grandfather's chair. She was pretty sure grandpa was still sleeping in his own bedroom in the shack next to the stables. He wanted to be close to the animals during the night. To prevent thieves from taking off with their precious livestock, and to keep the coyotes away from the chickens and piglets.

She opened the front door silently to not wake anyone and stepped onto the porch. She found Butch in the rocking chair, staring at the sunrise with a steaming cup of coffee in his hand and a blanket wrapped around himself. He looked up at her with one eye closed against the blinding sunlight and gave her a crooked and tired smile.

"Morning'" he said. "Have a seat. Best show is in town. All free o' charge"

She followed his gaze to the horizon for a moment, blinking against the light "you gave me a scare. I thought you.." she started.

"Ye thought what?" he interrupted her and looked at her sharply. "That I'd be dead by mornin'?" he chuckled and shook his head. "Nah.. no such luck, little miss shark. Not today" she sat down in the chair next to his and studied his tired weathered face for a moment. Almost expecting him to breathe his last breath right there in the rocking chair. It had only been last night he announced he was feeling death creeping inside his body. He knew she was looking at him cause he held out his coffee for her without making eye contact.

"It's pretty strong" he warned when she took the mug from him. she took a small sip and started coughing. It was probably the strongest coffee she had ever tasted and it felt like her lungs expanded when she swallowed the hot beverage. He chuckled and fished the cup from her hands before she could spill it in her struggle to breathe.

She regained her composure and shook her head, still panting lightly. "That.. must do a number on your fragile stomach, mister Cavendish. You shouldn't drink that" she said. Her shrugged and downed the mug in one final swig. drops of coffee trickled down his chin and he wiped them away with his sleeve, tossing the empty cup up and down in his hand.

"Ah probably shouldn't do a lot of things. But sometimes a man doesn't have much of a choice" he said and placed the cup on the wooden floor beside his chair.

"I take it you're feeling better than" she said. He didn't answer and gazed at the horizon once more. the sun almost completely visible now. Soon the house would awaken and the day would start.

"Mister Cavendish.." she urged him softly, needing confirmation that he was indeed improving. They had come to agree upon some sort of truce, even though it had been a silent agreement, but she still didn't want him to linger around the ranch longer than necessary.

"yea.." he finally said, not taking his eyes off the rising sun. "just played out.."

"And your stomach?"

"Well, ah might just retch up all o' that coffee all over yer shoes but.. " he looked at her shocked expression and chuckled. "Got ya there.. mah gut is fine. Little tender, maybe. Yer mother's method worked, ah suppose"

She couldn't help but smile and feel a strange sort of pride at that statement. Her mother, a simple rancher's wife, saving the big bad Butch Cavendish from the brink of death. The poor woman didn't deserve to have to waste her healing talents on wanted criminals, but the mere fact she could do it made her a heroin in her daughter's eyes.

"did you mean what you said last night? About.. leaving us and the ranch untouched" she asked. He didn't answer right away because a group of white tailed deer had decided to pass through their lands. Between the house and the stable, the brown colored animals stood off against the pale yellow dust. One of the doe's had a fawn that couldn't be older than two days. It had barely learned how to walk and followed its mother clumsily. The group stopped in front of the house, sniffing the air cautiously.

Right at that moment the front door slammed open and Frank tripped over a bucket while running onto the porch. "Miss Eleanor! Butch's bed is empty and ah can't finds him!" the deer scattered away on breakneck speed, their white tails up in alarm and Butch slammed his hand down on the elbow rest of his chair.

"FRANK! Godammit!" he hollered and Frank didn't know how fast he had to get back inside, tripping over the same bucket in the process. A cheerful "ah founds him!" could be heard and Butch rolled his eyes. Eleanor couldn't help but burst out laughing at the whole situation and covered her mouth to hide her chuckling. The criminal gave her a slightly amused look.

The front door opened again and this time mother peered around the doorway. "what are you two doing out here in the cold morning air? Fetching ourselves a lung infection, are we? If you think I'm in the mood for two patients at the same time you got another thing coming. Elly! Them cows need milking and they aint gonna do it themselves, mind you!" she said and closed the door with a loud bang.

There was a short sort of awkward silence between them for a moment. The kind of effect it had when you were scolded by your mother in front of a wanted outlaw who hadn't been scolded since he was six years old. Everyone who had tried it after that age hadn't lived to tell the tale.

Eleanor got up from her seat and brushed off her skirt. "You best be out of that rocking chair before grandpa wakes up and puts his shotgun to your head. Cause mind you he will" she said and chuckled when Butch made every effort to look as unimpressed as he possibly could. But when she had finished dressing for the day and made her way to the stables, grandfather was occupying the rocking chair and Butch was nowhere to be seen.

Frank proved to be a useful contribution to the farm. Each day, mother made him do chores she or her daughter simply couldn't do. Like climbing onto the roof with a bucket of nails and a hammer to fix a few broken planks. It had caused leaks inside the stable every time it rained. He was more than happy to help with whatever needed to be repaired. Especially now that Butch seemed to be on the mend. Eleanor had the idea mother was putting the young man to work to compensate for his still recovering leader. It probably made the older woman feel less used in the current situation.

Butch was doing better. But he still couldn't be up for very long before feeling nauseas and dizzy again. He wandered around the ranch by himself and threw pebbles at Frank while he was working on the roof, until mother threatened to lock them both in the gear room. He had grown tired soon after that and was forced to lay down. But instead of locking himself in Eleanor's bedroom like he had done the previous days, he occupied the couch and didn't want to be excluded from any conversation that took place in the livingroom. He had even complied to take his boots off when mother had repeatedly accused him of getting sand allover the couch.

The older woman still grudgingly refused to have a real conversation with the recovering outlaw while she was knitting in the armchair next to the couch. But then again, no one could say Butch was really giving it some serious effort either. When Eleanor entered the livingroom around lunchtime, the silence was deafening and it was rather obvious the two were having a wordless showdown.

The young woman sighed and placed the bucket of milk on the dining table rather loudly. "well this looks like a rather amiable scene" she said. Mother gave her an unamused look from over her knitting work, a brown colored monstrosity that vaguely resembled a scarf. "Even if I'm forced to share my livingroom with the devil himself, I won't cease my work over it for one darn minute" the woman said, giving Butch an irritable look.

"He's not the devil, mother" said Eleanor and opened the oven to take out the tray "And you almost burned the biscuits"

"what ye girls gonna do about this ranch and the railroad, anyway? Looks te me like there aint gonna be biscuits te burn pretty soon" Butch mumbled, his face covered by his hat. "Any suggestions, mister Cavendish? Rob a bank to pay them off, maybe?" Mother sneered, holding up the scarf to see if she made any mistake in the pattern. Butch removed his hat from his face and ran a hand through his hair. "There aint no bank in these here parts that holds enough money te keep out the railroad, I can tell ye that" he chuckled.

Eleanor offered him a biscuit but he refused, feeling nauseous and too tired to eat. "You shouldn't have been running around all morning" Mother scolded him gently. "Now you're paying the price"

"Ahm fine. Give it te Frank. He's the one workin' his butt off like some damn idiot" Butch shot back.

"Frank, mister Cavendish, is paying for what you both are taking from this ranch!" Mother said, standing her ground as always. "I don't suspect lowlives such as yourself to understand how paying and receiving works but let me tell you one thing.. that boy out there.. he'll be ten times the man you'll ever be, and that's just how it is" with that statement she grabbed the plate with biscuits from Eleanor's hands and went outside to offer Frank both his own and Butch's meal, making sure the door slammed in its lock.

"Ah can't wait te tell that woman Frank shot a fourteen year old girl because she wouldn't hand over her bonnet" Butch mumbled, placing his hat over his eyes again. "Please don't.. he's turning out to be the son she always wished for. They wanted a boy.. my parents. I don't blame them for it either. Out here it's much more useful to raise a son instead of a daughter" Eleanor said, sitting down in her mother's armchair. She took a bite out of her biscuit, chewing on the dry and bland tasting bread.

"ahm gonna be sick"

"I know.. women are treated so unfairly in these parts. I'm glad you agree"

"No I'm really gonna be sick.." Butch growled and got up from the couch to rush outside to empty his stomach over the railing of the porch. The barrel of grandfather's shotgun pressed against his back firmly.

Still panting, the outlaw reached behind him and pushed the shotgun away irritably. There was nothing solid in his stomach to throw up. Only fluids, and they burned his throat. He looked down at the wet spot in the yellow sand, drying up quickly in the warm afternoon sun. He wasn't out of the woods yet, but he recognized every symptom and that sort of comforted him. It always got worse before it would get better. He just hoped the worst was over. This place was making his restless.

"Ahm fallin' apart.. " he mumbled, wiping his mouth with his sleeve and turned to face the old man. "Ye must know what ahm talkin' about, oldtimer..ahm sure yer dick fell off years ago. So don't ye go and pressin' barrels against mah back again or ye'll regret it"

Grandfather didn't make any movement to lower his gun until his granddaughter joined the scene with a worried expression on her face. "Are you alright?" she asked Butch.

"Don't matter if ah do or don't.. ahm riding out tomorrow te find the others. Ah'll leave Frank here so he can finish whut he started" the outlaw replied gruffly without looking at her. "And come back fer him in a few days"

"what made you decide this out of all sudden? You're not recovered yet. Not enough to ride" Eleanor said, trying to make him to look at her, but he refused to make eye contact. "ah know mahself much better than ye do, little miss shark. So don't ye go and tell me whether ahm fit te ride er not. If ah say ah am.. then ah am" he shot back. "And this has taken long enough anyway"

"it obviously hasn't taken long enough if you're still vomiting allover the place, has it? Are you going to undo all the hard work my mother and I put in your recovery just because you're feeling restless?" Eleanor said exasperated. She didn't quite understand herself why she was urging him to stay where he was. Hadn't it been her goal to patch him up enough for him to say that he was good to leave?

"and whut are ye gonna do when those four nice suits show up here again and find me and Frank cowering inside yer house? Hm? Just tell me what sort of genius plan ye had in yer goddamn stubborn mind te explain te those four why yer hiding wanted outlaws on yer property and still expect them te not hang ye for it!" Butch hollered and turned to face her, his blue eyes spitting fire. "Ah may not fix yer fucking fence or milk yer fucking cows but ah fucking know when ahm supposed te leave te ensure that this ranch won't be burned te the ground! Ah have mah own way te show gratitude, and ye best do well te remember that the greatest thing ah can do fer you is te git out of yer fucking life!"

He was a frightful sight to see when he was yelling so loudly and looking so furious and no one could deny that the thought he could very well kill her right there and then crossed Eleanor's mind. She decided to back off and leave him to make up his own mind. Butch Cavendish didn't negotiate, with no one. He was used to doing what he wanted to do, when he wanted it and no one could tell him to do otherwise. But the outburst had taken a number out of him and he went back inside, leaving the girl outside on the porch.

Sorry for the swearing.. he did it.. *points at Butch*


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9. Enjoy and thanks for the favs and reviews! They help a lot. R&R please!

When evening came and the sun finally disappeared on the horizon, a strange silence fell over the distant prairie. Too early for the usual quiet that emerged during the night. But to folks who lived out there, were raised there and build a life. The silence was a sign of something coming. Something that returned every year and cost a lot of people and animals their lives. The cold of winter.

The cool season, as people called it, had arrived. And for those who lived outside the safety of a town it was the least favourable season of all. Because inside a town, most of the cold cutting wind from the North was blocked by the houses. Life was hard in the cold, windy wooden cabins out on the tall grass fields. Animals, as well as people, suffered from the cold. Cows could no longer stay outside when the snow started falling and the grass would freeze up. Horses needed blankets or they could get frostbite and die on you. You were nowhere without a horse.

Grandfather had predicted the coming snow a month before. And as usual, the two women that ran the ranch had made the necessary preparations. Food has been stored and blankets had been purchased or handmade. More wood had been chopped and dried in grandpa's shed. It was all you could do to prepare for winter. There was no stopping it. It was going to be a cold night and Eleanor was grateful to have the two men inside the house for now. No one deserved to be out there in this weather. Not even criminals. She wondered how the rest of Butch' gang was doing. She hadn't had the time or bravery to get to know them better, and she now regretted that.

"Ah luv me some snow" Frank said, gazing out of the window. "ah was always pretty good at them snowball fights when ah was small"

Mother looked up from her knitting work. The scarf she was making was turning out to be a blanket. Not due to choice, but necessity. Mrs. Hartley had never been very good at knitting, but that didn't mean she didn't keep trying every late summer, to knit scarfs and sweaters for every occupant. All of them turning into quilts along the way.

"you're still small, Frank Taylor.. don't you waste a second thinking to yourself you're a grown man. A grown man makes his own decisions. And you are still following that wild dog around like you owe him" she spoke.

Frank frowned. "Ah do owe him.." he said quietly. "Ah was all alone and e'said ah could come with him so ah did"

Mother huffed in disagreement, shooting a quick look at the closed bedroom door. Butch had been asleep for the rest of the day. She didn't know the details of the conversation he had had with her daughter, but it had somehow resulted in the outlaw locking himself away again.

"would you jump of a bridge if he told you so?" she asked cynically.

"whut would he want me te do that for?"

She just raised her eyebrows, not looking up from her knitting work. Eleanor had been outside feeding the animals and entered the house, her shawl and hair dusted with the first snowflakes of the season.

"I took the sheep inside. No good for them to stay out in this weather. It's getting really cold" she said and removed the shawl from her shoulders. "I think we can let the hens out tomorrow though. There isn't much wind. I think they'll be fine in the daytime"

Mother placed her knitting to the side and got up to put the kettle on the fire. "All this talk about the cold moving in makes me thirsty for some hot tea" she mumbled more to herself than anyone else. Eleanor turned to Frank, who was still peering out of the window in silent wonderment.

"How's Mr. Cavendish?" she asked. The young man shrugged a little, pulling the blanket around his shoulders tighter. As if a shiver had ran through his body at the mention of his leader. "he got himself a tummy ache but.. that aint nuthin' new aint it?"

Eleanor sighed in annoyance, taking off her boots and tossing them into a corner. "That man.. comes over here and scares the living daylights out of innocent women cause he's oh so ill and now wants to leave before he even recovered. I don't get it.. I don't get men.. I give up" she said irritably. Frank blinked in confusion at her little rant. "e'wants te leave? When?"

Now she had done it. Butch hadn't informed his gang member about his plans yet. She removed the braid from her hair and tousled the long wet strands, no longer in the mood for ribbons. If she was going to break the news to Frank, she would do it on her own terms.

"apparently he thinks it's a good idea to leave tomorrow morning to find his gang and leave you here to come back for you in a few days. He said he wanted you to finish what you started" she explained, her hands in her sides. The young criminal just stared at her in shock and bewilderment.

"What.. did ah start?"

Eleanor chuckled and shook her head. she had never met a more oblivious man that could make every stupid question sound endearing. She was going to miss Frank, and not only because he was a good extra pair of hands but because he made her and her mother laugh when they really didn't feel like laughing. Mother appeared from the kitchen with a tray of steaming cups and pushed one into Frank's hands.

"Drink that up while it's still steaming and you might live through the night to see another sunrise. This cold is going to be barbaric, I tell you" the older woman said and gave Eleanor her cup.

"Ah remember.. last year.. it was real cold and we all slept outside. And Barret got sick and coughed all night and ah couldn't sleep.. no one could. Ahm happy to be inside now.. " Said Frank and sipped his cup carefully. The two women were rendered speechless by his sad story. Not only outlaws and criminals slept outside. Trappers, cowboys and other sorts of trades that caused a man to be on horseback a lot. All good folk that had to spend their nights out in the open. A good trade to have during the summer months. A risky career choice during the cold season.

"The Lord brought you to us, Frank Taylor. I think he'd like you to stay and be our ranch hand. You are welcome to start your honest life here" Mother said, gazing at Frank with a serious expression. But Frank looked scared even considering it. "whut about Butch?" he asked.

"what about him?!" Mother shot back, her voice rising in volume, causing Frank to shrink a little. "what about that crabby old low dog?! That good for nothing piece of trash! For God's sakes! Why are you so hell bend on wasting your loyalty on a man who wouldn't walk ten inches for you!"

So wrapped up in her tirade, mother hadn't realized Butch was standing in the doorway of the bedroom with his hand clutching his abdomen. Once she followed Frank's wide eyed stare, she fell silent but there was no regret or fear on her face.

"ah need some laudanum " he said, his voice hoarse from sleep. His face was as pale as it had been last night and his eyes looked weary and sunken in. It always got worse during the evening hours. Making it almost impossible for him to sleep and get the rest he so desperately needed. But he still had to admit that being sick in this place was worlds better than being sick out there in the cold with his gang functioning as caretakers. Something they really weren't all that good at.

Eleanor nodded and got up. "I'll get it for you. Go back to bed.. " he simply nodded and turned around, closing the door behind him.

"That dog owes me three bottles of laudanum and you tell him that when you two ride off, you hear me" Mother said, giving Frank a sharp look. The young outlaw nodded frantically. "Ah'll tell him ye said that, Ma'am but ah don't think he'll do anything with it. He don't take no laudanum when he aint sick. Ah know Barret gots laudanum with him all the time cause he gets them headaches sometimes" Frank said.

"I don't remember no Barret and I sure don't care about being reintroduced neither" the woman said, concentrating on her knitting again. Her fingers had started trembling from anger so much, she started making mistakes in the pattern. She cursed under her breath silently while undoing the faulty stitches.

Eleanor was getting used to the ups and downs in the gang leader's sickness. He seemed to feel better in the morning, after a long night's sleep, and got gradually worse throughout the day until he could do nothing but lay down and try to rest it off. He was in no condition to ride or be outside in her opinion, and she had to admit she was worried. Worried about Butch Cavendish. A wanted man, a notoriously vicious outlaw. It was the fault in her stars, probably. Like father had always told her. The only daughter of the Hartley family, growing up far away from any buzzling town. Unsuccessful in finding a suitable husband because there were simply none around that weren't old or full of mischief. The man had always regretted raising a daughter in the empty high plains. Lost in her memories of father's foretelling words she had mixed a few drops of laudanum in some fresh water and had brought it to the ailing criminal wordlessly.

"whut's on yer mind, little miss shark?"

She shook her head to get rid of her gloomy thoughts and blinked. Butch was sipping his glass and made a face at the bitter taste. "If this sickness aint gonna kill me this shit might.." he complained.

"I don't think it works with sugar in it.." she said, busying herself with picking up clothes and folding them onto a chair. Maybe it wasn't a good sign that she was getting comfortable with him around, but there was no denying it. Once you've seen someone in their weakest and most vulnerable moments, it's hard to still fear him for what he is to the outside world. And he, in turn, let her tend to him with a trust he didn't bestow on many people. They had gotten used to eachother's presence.

"come on now.. ah can see yer mind is somewhere else. Not in this room. Where are ye?" Butch asked again, downing his glass in one swig to get it over with. She looked up at him with a dazed expression. "I'm fine, just.. thinking.. worried"

"About the ranch?" he asked and moved his pillow so he could lay flat on his back. He had been sitting up to drink his medicine but the position was exhausting him.

"About you actually" Eleanor said. He opened one eye to look at her for a moment and closed it again, chuckling tauntingly. Feeling offended by his reaction, she huffed and turned to leave.

"Hey! Stay.. aint no use worrying about me in the living room.. ye might as well worry about me where ah can see ya" he said. "Besides ah might git worse er sumthin'" he taunted her. "Ah might need another blanket er… decide ah want a bedtime story..have ye sing fer me" he put his arms under his head, making himself for comfortable. She had turned around to face him with an unamused expression but that just made him chuckle.

"Come on, little miss shark. Have a seat. Can't say we didn't have a nice time last night, can ye? Ah like yer company" she didn't look convinced and crossed her arms over her chest. He grunted when a flare of hot pain shot through his lower abdomen and placed his hand on his stomach. "Helps with the pain" he mumbled softly. The sincerity in that last statement did the trick and she slowly sat down in the chair next to his bed.

"this is exactly why I'm worried about you wanting to leave tomorrow morning. What if it starts hurting like this while you're out there?" she asked. He waited till the pain had somehow subsided a little before answering her.

"It would mess up my day, that's whut" he grumbled. "Ah don't want te talk about how sick ah ahm. Ah know how sick ah ahm.. Ah don't need ye te remind me! Tell me somethin'.. anythin'.. what was yer pa's name?"

"William.. William John Hartley" she said after a short silence. "what was your father's name?"

He stared at the ceiling, the wooden beams he had come to know so well he had almost given them names and tried to think of something else than the hot pain in his stomach. "uhh.." he frowned, trying to remember the name of that lousy sack of shit that was his father. "Ah think it was Tobias.. But I aint sure.. ahm tryin' te ferget te bastard" he chuckled.

After what he had told her yesterday, she didn't think that was such a strange idea. The man didn't sound like he had been a very loving father to his son. "And your mother?" Eleanor asked.

"Ah don't remember her name. I barely knew her. She died when ah was very young. My brother could tell you all about er'"

"You have a brother?"

He nodded and gave her a wary look. "No more questions.. " he grumbled. Eleanor blinked in surprise at the sudden harsh tone in his voice. His brother was obviously a topic he didn't wish to discuss with her. Not everybody got along with their family.

She knew she had been blessed with her kind mother, grandfather and a relatively good operating ranch. There were people out there in the fast distances who lived in much harsher conditions. Who suffered hardships and losses like the criminal before her. These parts had a tendency to turn good men into drunken wrecks. She had always believed father's words. That human beings just weren't cut out to live in such wide open spaces. It was like keeping a lone horse in a wide open meadow. She would go crazy eventually.

"I'm sorry for your loss. Is there anything you do remember about her? It's good to try to remember.. she was your mother. She should not be forgotten" Eleanor said quietly, trying to smile. He didn't look at her. Instead, he was still staring at the ceiling, lost in his own thoughts.

"been a long time since ah thought about er'" he admitted after a while, the harsh tone gone "ah just remember her eyes.. they were blue"

"Like yours.." she smiled. "They remind me of dog eyes" he raised an eyebrow. "No really! Let me explain.. sometimes cowboys or settlers pass through our lands. They keep dogs with them for protection with one blue eye and one brown eye. Indians are afraid of dogs like that.. they think they have spiritual powers. Your eyes remind me of them" she said, smiling brightly.

He chuckled softly and closed his eyes, feeling a sudden weariness. "ahm ah yer spirit dog, miss Hartley?" he asked, turning to his side to get more comfortable. "keepin' the injuns away?"

"what, are you going to chase them around barking?" she asked, amused. He grinned, half asleep already and nuzzled into his pillow. He was going to miss this damn bed the most of all. Sleeping on a dusty old saddle blanket did a number on one's spine.

Eleanor dimmed the light of the oillamp and pulled the blankets and furs up to his chin. He didn't mind it anymore. He enjoyed her company and liked the idea of her staying close to him as he slept. Like many troubled men, sleep did not come easily for him. But it seemed that when she was sitting next to his bed with her calming gentle presence, his dreams weren't quite as bad as usual. The demons of his past were somehow kept at arm's length. He was already asleep when she closed the door behind her.

Mother had gone to bed already. Keeping the fire going in the livingroon only wasted precious dried wood. One did better to just turn in for the night when it was so cold. Frank had been given some extra blankets and seemed to be vast asleep on his usual spot on the couch. Eleanor was alone, but she didn't mind. She had always liked her moments of solitude, there weren't many of them left. She curled up on a chair by the window. The tiny snowflakes at the beginning of the evening had turned into fat flakes twirling down the sky.

She was going to miss Butch Cavendish, complicated as their bond now seemed to be. The thought she would never see him again seemed almost absurd now, for he had become such a big part of her life in those few days. She hugged her knees and leaned her head against the window until the glass became so foggy she could no longer make out the barn and shed in the distance.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10. Enjoy!

Her dreams were not pleasant that night. They came in visions and images engulfed in the white steam of progression. Her ears rang with the noises of iron wheels and panicking horses. Butch came into view, walking towards her from out of the smoke, his eyes a pale shade of blue that made him look almost inhuman. Blood covered his mouth and dripped down his chin. He lifted a pale hand and wiped away the blood. She backed away in fear until her back slammed into something solid. She tried to scream but the smoke entered her lungs and rendered her unable to produce any sound. A woman screamed in the background, and Butch turned his head to look into the direction of the sharp pitched cry. A dog was barking until the sound of a gunshot echoed through the smoke filled sky. She closed her eyes and started crying, sinking down the invisible wall until she touched the floor. There she huddled into a ball. Someone called her name but she shook her head in response. Then someone struck her hard across her face and she cried out in pain.

"ELEANOR!"

She inhaled sharply and her eyes shot open, only to meet with those familiar blue ones. No blood on his face, just the scars she had grown accustomed to. She was laying on the wooden floor of the living room, next to the armchair she had fallen asleep in. Butch was hovering over her, his gaze wild like a hunted animal. Behind him the light of dancing flames created patterns on the wooden ceiling.

"Trouble" He said.

He moved away from her and she was left to collect her bearing on her own. She touched the tender spot on her cheek and flinched. The sounds that had haunted her dreams didn't leave and it took her a moment to register that she was no longer dreaming and the noises came from outside.

"Get the horses out of there!"

Horses. They were screaming in fright. Voices she didn't recognize were calling out to the night sky. Then a gunshot. And another one. Grandfather's incoherent swearing could be heard over every other sound. She sat up an looked out of the window. The inferno before her so big its heat hit her face through the foggy panelled windows.

The barn was on fire. The silhouettes of men on horseback danced around the disastrous scene. Their guns lifted in the air, firing shots at the stars like a ritual of war. Mother was standing a few feet away from her, and tried with shaking hands to load the two barrelled shot gun. Butch grabbed it from her roughly and tossed it into a corner of the room.

"Ye kill one of them and there will be a hundred more waitin' for ye!" He told her.

Eleanor jumped to her feet and opened the front door. Someone grabbed her roughly by her arm and pulled her towards them.

"Going somewhere?"

There was nothing left of the sophisticated educated young man Elton. The person before her looked a lot like him, but his eyes had something savage and inhuman in them. The flames of the fire danced around in the green of his irises. She struggled against his grasp but it only made him tighten his grip on her.

"Let go of me!"

"I think not. I warned you cumbersome women more than once. You called this out upon yourself, you little hell cat!"

A ball of fire erupted from the roof of the barn as part of it came down and collapsed in the hog pen. The pigs squealed in terror as they desperately tried to escape the flames. The windows of the house succumbed to the heat and shattered to pieces. It was enough to distract Elton, and he loosened his grip on her to hide his face from the glass that rained down upon him.

Dancing around the feet of the horses she made her way to the blazing barn and tried to lift the heavy beam of the door. Tears streamed down her face in pure panic as she found wasn't strong enough. The animals inside screaming. Frank joined her out of nowhere and together they removed the beam and opened the door. A whirlwind of fire and smoke made its way into the cool night air and they both covered their faces against the scorching heat. The smoke stinging their eyes.

Frank grabbed his gun and shot the locks off every pen. The two cows stampeded out of the barn, forcing the men outside to move out of the way. They shot the animals on sight. Eleanor released Frank's horse and the young stallion wasted no time to jump over burning beams and made his way outside. But Annabel would not move out of pure fear. Her head lifted in the air, snorting frantically. Eleanor tugged on the reins as hard as she could, but the mare refused to move. Still believing she was safe inside her stable.

"Come on, Annabel!"

The horse reared in agitation. Frank came to her side and took the reins from her. "Give me yer shawl!" he said. "she don't want te see this!" He wrapped it around the horse's head, rendering her blind. Now the mare followed, and they were able to lead her out of the building before it collapsed completely. Time seemed to go tauntingly slow as she looked around. Her grandfather yelling and shaking his fist at the laughing men. They had taken his gun from him with great ease, as the man was too old and weak to put up much of a fight. Eleanor sank to her knees at the sight of the pointlessly butchered livestock scattered across the ground.

Elton had gotten back into the saddle, his face covered in cuts from the glass. He spun his horse around restlessly, looking much like the Devil incarnate against the blazing fire behind him. Mother stood on the porch, her face showing something Eleanor didn't recognize; the pale weariness of defeat.

"You have one week! One week!" Elton held up his finger, panting heavily as if he had lost his mind completely. "To hand over this land. Cause next time I come around.. I'll burn down the house!"

He turned his horse toward the dark emptiness and took off on breakneck speed, his men following him. Eleanor listened to the sound of the horses disappearing in the dark of night and was suddenly seized up from the ground roughly. A knife was put against her throat with such force that it caused her to bleed. "Ye got a right down purdy mouth, don't ye? Goin' te be a real shame te cut that up." The man's breath smelled strongly of whiskey, and his clothes of gunpowder.

He wasn't anything like the slick agents that usually rode with Elton. He looked like he could have been part of Butch's gang. His bloodshed eyes met Frank's when the latter cocked his gun and aimed it at him.

"Ye put that down ye chuffy lookin' bumpkin, or I'll slit her throat" The man growled, and tightened his grip on the knife. She glared at him from the corners of her eyes with pure hatred and whimpered when the knife sank deeper into her skin. "Ah know a lot of folks that would pay a pretty price for you." She struggled, but it just caused him to laugh. "Then again, it don't pay much te sell a mare that hasn't been broken in yet. So maybe I should take ye for a ride and knock some of the fight out of you" He said.

"Hey Evans.."

The man looked up at the mention of his name and frowned at the speaker standing in the doorway of the house. Butch approached them slowly and seemed surprisingly calm and collected. He had dressed himself, and the sound of his spurs made his walking sound all the more menacing.

"Remember me?"

The man called Evans loosened his grip on the knife, and Eleanor could have sworn he stopped breathing for a moment. "Butch? whut ye doin' out here?.. ah.. ah thought ye were.."

"ye thought.. er ye hoped.. there's a difference, Evans. Ah hoped ah'd run into ye some day. Bet ye didn't hope the same, hm?" Butch said. He took a step closer to the man, his voice just above a whisper. "Since when did ye join the law anyway? Right after ye left the gang or did ye take a vacation first with the money ye took from me?" His tone more threatening.

"This aint the law, Butch.. Ah. Ah never said anything about ye to them.. rangers er nuthin' ah swear on mah dead mother" Evans stammered. "Man's gotta make a livin' Butch. Ah.. Ah'd never.. set ye up"

Butch narrowed his eyes and leaned in closer. "ye know what they do with rapists like you in jail, Evans?" The man's eyes widened in fear. "See ah know more about ye.. then ye know about me. Now ye git. Before ah change mah mind"

The man nodded frantically, released Eleanor and jumped onto his horse clumsily. No one said a word until the sound of his horse's hooves disappeared on the horizon. Eleanor reached up to feel the cut and flinched when her fingers grazed the raw skin. She looked up at Butch, who was still standing quite close to her. "Thank you" she mumbled.

He ignored her and turned away, taking in the full extent of the damage to the ranch now the smoke was clearing up.

Mother stood over the lifeless body of one of Elton's men, still holding the shotgun firmly in her hand. Tossing the weapon into a corner hadn't been enough to stop her. There were tears rolling down her cheeks but she didn't look like she regretted anything. Grandfather was already busying himself picking up every dead chicken laying around. Bending over slowly with his old broken back. Frank came to stand beside her, still holding the two horses by their reins.

"Why on God's good earth would they shoot the chickens" Mother sobbed.

"They're gonna come and look fer him" Frank said, looking at the body as if he expected it to jump up any moment. "Them rangers will."

"well, what are they going to do about it?" Mother looked up at him sharply. "Cut short my young life?" She turned and marched back to the house, wiping the tears off her face roughly. Butch had tried in vain to stop her from killing any of them.

"The rangers will arrest ye" Butch stated matter-of-factly. "Ye killed a railroad man." Mother rounded on him quickly. "I do not believe you are the right person to tell me who I should or should not kill, Butch Cavendish!"

He seemed unfazed by her little outburst and closed his eyes for a moment in agitation. "Maybe so.." He said. "But I aint stayin' around te watch ye and yer daughter get dragged off to prison. Ah advice ye get out of here. Out of state."

"I have no need for your advice nor do I have the ambition to leave my ranch and land behind! They can come for me any time they wish to. I'll be right here!" with that, mother went back inside. Eleanor kneeled down next to one of the cows and gently stroked the soft winter fur. "She was supposed to have a calf this coming spring." She said softly, tears rolling down her cheeks.

Frank looked as lost as a little boy unable to find his mother in a grocery store, and his eyes wandered to the sad picture of a girl weeping over a dead cow. "Ye can git a new cow. Lots a cows around" He said, trying to sound as comforting as he possibly could. "Ah.. Ah'd buy it fer ye if ah had the money, miss Hartley. But ahm a little low on that fer now"

Eleanor shook her head and got to her feet, wiping her tears away roughly. "We're ruined. They won. What would we do with a new cow with no barn to put her in?! Don't you get it? No.. of course you don't. You don't have anything to call your own." She said. Frank blinked, surprised at her angry tone.

"well I'd be mighty sad if they'd take Bobby er.. kill him" he said.

She looked up at Butch, who was examining the smouldering pile of beams that used to be the barn. He didn't seem very fazed or upset with the situation. To him, this probably just looked like a regular day at the office.

"So who was he?" she asked. Butch turned to her and tilted his head. "His name is Robert Evans. Last time ah saw him.. he was riding South with my money. Probably bought himself free with it. Ah know he's got 4000 on his head for all the times he couldn't keep his paws off ah woman" he said. Eleanor frowned and averted her eyes. "Now what would the railroad want with a man like that?" she asked.

"It'd be 8000 if they knew the truth" Butch mumbled, kicking away a blackened piece of wood. "The railroad takes any man that promises them to git ranchers off their lands. A rapist will do the trick. One the daughter of some.. farmer has been attacked.. they usually tend te leave. Back East where they came from."

Again, there were tears running down Eleanor's pale and dirty cheeks. She could not believe this had happened to them. And it wasn't over yet. Elton would keep his promise and come back to arrest anyone who had anything to do with the death of his henchman. She sat down on the porch and wrapped her arms around herself, watching the barn burn out slowly. The smoke would be seen in the far distance. She didn't know how long she had been sitting there staring at the smouldering pile of wood, but time seemed to go ever so slow. As if the whole ordeal had scared away the dawn and it would never be light again. An hour passed and she was vaguely aware of it when Butch kneeled down in front of her.

"Look at me" He ordered. She looked up at him slowly, almost accusingly. His expression remained impassive, as if he studied a rare creature. Her face dusted by ash, her tears left clear tracks down her cheeks. "Let ye in on a little secret" he mumbled. "Any man ambushing ye in the night is far too afraid he might actually hit ye"

She frowned and was about to ask him what he had meant, when he got to his feet and untied the reins of his horse from the railing. "Ye stayin' er you're comin' Frank?" Butch asked, climbing into the saddle. Frank opened his mouth to say something, but as usual, couldn't find the right words. He looked at Eleanor for a moment. "Well I.. wasn't ah supposed to stay and finish what I started?" he asked carefully, afraid Butch might get angry. But the gang leader just stared at him and chuckled. "Ye gonna build them a new barn, ye goofball?"

Frank swallowed thickly, he was no carpenter. He looked at the destroyed barn for a moment. "Ah think ah'll stay and help out a bit.. Only nice thing te do.." Butch huffed and shifted in his saddle. His stomach was complaining against the action, but that couldn't be helped right now. The time for lazing around was over. "We'll be pass that mountain ridge up ahead" He said, nodding toward the distance. "We'll be moving West" With no other words of goodbye, Butch took off. Frank plopped down next to Eleanor and sighed. Together they watched the outlaw disappear into the night.


	11. Chapter 11

A small warning.. This chapter is violent! Thanks for all the favs and follows! R&R please!

/

It was the first time Eleanor didn't look forward to the break of dawn. When the sun returned, the damage would become clear. It had taken a long time for her to get back inside after Butch left. And Frank had never left her side. Her bedroom was hers again, but she found she could not sleep in the sheets that still carried the musky smell of the criminal that had previously occupied it. Mother had told her she'd wash her daughter's bedding in the morning. Her room still looked like he'd be back any moment. He had kept the shirt she had given him and left his old one behind. Mother had been unsuccessful at cleaning it properly. It was so old and worn down, its faded yellow color remained. .

When the break of dawn arrived, mother refused to come out of her own bedroom. It was useless to wait for the rooster announcing morning. There was no rooster to wait for anymore. Father had been so proud of that damn bird, strutting around the ranch proudly. Now its shiny green tail feathers were covered in yellow dust as the beautiful rooster lay lifeless in the sand. Already torn to shreds by roaming coyotes.

Frank seemed just as dazed by the whole event, and it had somehow transformed him into more than a silly young man doing chores around the ranch. Or the sidekick of a notorious outlaw that used him at his own beg and call. When morning came, and Eleanor found the young criminal in the kitchen, his red rimmed eyes had darkened. Making him look a lot more dangerous than the previous days.

"Did you sleep at all?" Eleanor asked, pouring herself a cup of coffee and sitting down next to him. He shook his head slowly, his eyes fixated on a small beetle making its way across the long wooden dining table. "Ah cleaned mah rifle" he said and reached beside him to reveal an old but clean Winchester repeater. He placed it on the table with a loud thud and looked up at her. Challenging her to say something about it. Eleanor blinked, the rifle had come as a surprise to her. He had only been carrying one Colt around for the entire duration of his stay.

"Is this yours?" she asked, staring at the weapon. He shrugged and leaned back in his chair. "No one else in the gang knows how to handle it. So ah suppose that makes it mine. Mah pa taught me how to shoot turkeys. Used a rifle just like this one for it."

"I bet you haven't shot a turkey in years" Eleanor whispered and looked at him sadly. Still wondering how a boy like this could end up with the likes of Butch. "That aint fair.." Frank said, looking up at her sharply. "Ye don't think about shooting birds when there's folks emptying their guns on ye wherever ye go."

"Breaking the law is the easy way, Frank. I do believe that." She spoke back. He huffed and shifted in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "Breaking the law aint that easy.. burning down a barn and telling ye it's in name of the law.. that's easy." He said. She was silent, gazing at him wearily. He was angry. But she knew she wasn't the reason. When things seemed to be unjustified, Frank would usually start showing signs of irritation. He had a strong moral code, which made it all the more surprising he was running with a gang of outlaws.

"You think he'll come back?" she asked. His eyes met hers, and after a moment he shook his head. "Butch aint comin' back, miss Hartley. He aint like that."

She laughed despite herself. "Of course he isn't. Well.. I'm going to miss him anyway. You can tell him that when you meet up with him again. Our goodbye was less than gratifying. He took off so quickly." She said. Frank was silent and lowered his gaze. Interacting with women was hard when you were at a loss of words half of the time. He swallowed nervously, his eyes going around the small room as if he expected the right words to be written on the walls.

"Well, ah promise te tell him everything ye want me to say te him.. Ah'll be talkin' into the barrel of his gun ah expect but.. ah promise anyway."

She looked up and smiled at him gratefully, chuckling at the nervous state he was in. "Thank you, Frank." She said. He gave her a lopsided smile and a breathy chuckle.

Their conversation was interrupted when mother finally decided to join them. Still in her morning robes and three messily knitted shawls around her shoulders she waltzed into the kitchen and took out a frying pan. "I suppose no one had had any decent breakfast yet?" she grumbled.

Frank shook his head frantically. He wouldn't dare enter her kitchen "No, ma'am. Ahm usually not the cook when ahm with the gang. They don't trust me with them food supplies." Mother didn't look up and just huffed in irritation. "They can burn down my barn and kill my cows and hens but they'll never tell me I can't cook." She moped. Eleanor and Frank gave eachother a small knowing smile. Mother was thankfully getting her moxie back.

"Where's that old dog?" the older woman asked, cracking three eggs into a sizzling pan. "How does he likes his eggs?"

"He left last night, mother. I thought you knew. He thought it to be too dangerous to stick around." Eleanor said. Mother slammed the pot of coffee onto the counter loudly. "Dog.. leaving defenceless women after they helped him back on his unwashed feet. A dog! And an ungrateful one at that!" she said. Eleanor frowned. "well what would you have him do about this? Have some showdown with the rangers on the front lawn? This isn't his fight." She said.

"It's not his fight either!" Mother spat back, aiming a yoke covered spatula at a terrified Frank. "But he's still here, isn't he?!"

"Because Butch told me to stay!" Frank peeped in his leader's defence. The women were quiet, gazing at him in surprise. "Them rangers don't really know me very well. I don't think they'll recognize me. But they'll know Butch when they see him. Ah.. ahm more useful."

A short silence followed.

"Alright, mister useful.. how do you like your eggs?" Mother spoke eventually, turning back to her stove.

Breakfast went as any other day. As if nothing ever happened. In reality, it was the ranch's occupants that did their very best to live their lives as normally as possible even after the ordeal. There seemed to be a dark cloud above their heads none of them felt like recognizing as an immediate threat. The first repairs were done on the barn that same afternoon under grandfather's ever incoherent supervision. He seemed as resilient as his daughter in law. Some of the wood that hadn't been burned through all the way could still be used. Grandfather had Frank and his granddaughter separate it from the destroyed beams. With a little hard work and ingenuity the old man was sure a new barn could be made from the leftovers of the fire.

The strenuous labor in the meek winter sun put everyone's minds on something more productive than the ever nearing threat, and mother was even reported smiling a couple of times during the day. The three sheep had survived the fire, and were put in the storage room next to the house until a new barn was ready for them. A couple of brave hens had been smart enough to run for it when Elton and his men had showed up. They returned to the ranch during the late hours of the morning. Eleanor couldn't recall ever been so happy to see two chickens.

She was in the kitchen in the late afternoon, chatting with her mother and tasting the freshly made rabbit stew they would have for dinner when Grandfather called them. In the red light of the setting sun, a dust cloud could be made out in the distance. Horsemen, riding fast at a steady pace in their direction.

Mother placed her hand over her eyes to be able to make out the still tiny figures, but there was no question who it was. "Elton.. " she said. "And the rangers"

Grandfather cocked his shotgun, but mother placed her hand on the barrel. "We're not about to shoot rangers, paps. These are good men. Real law men.. I trust them." She said, Grandfather huffed and spat in the dirt. He had never been a big supporter of any law men. He had seen too much in his long lifetime to know there were all sorts of men that called themselves law men, and few of them were clean.

"Lock the storage room after you fed the sheep, Elly. They won't kill any more of my animals." Mother said and tossed her daughter a set of keys. She then turned to Frank and grabbed him by the front of his shirt before he could get out of her way. She pulled him close to her. "You are going to promise me something now, boy."

Frank stared at her wide eyed and nodded frantically. "Yes, Ma'am!"

"These men are going to take me away, and do Lord knows what to this ranch. You will hide my daughter from them and do whatever it takes to keep her out of their hands. Now do I have your God honest word on that, Frank Taylor?"

He swallowed thickly, but after a moment, he nodded slowly in understanding. "She'll fight me." He peeped.

"Oh, I reckon she will. But I expect you to be fighting back." Mother said and let go of his shirt. "Go saddle your horse. And tell that dog of a leader of yours to keep his own and his gang's paws off my daughter or I'll be coming for him."

Frank nodded again and tripped over his own feet running. The older woman turned to Grandfather and smiled. "We've been through worse, haven't we, Pa?" Grandfather just spat on the wooden boards of the porch.

Eleanor was still in the storage room making sure the sheep were comfortable and properly cared for when the horsemen arrived and halted in front of the house. She made a move for the door to aid her family but was grabbed from behind. A hand was pressed to her mouth. She struggled. "Sssh!" Frank hissed in her ear. "Ye keep still now."

Dan Reid stared at the burned barn for a moment and turned to Elton.

"Is that your doin'?"

Elton shifted in his saddle and rolled his shoulders in agitation. "That could very well be"

"Well then I sure do hope you're proud of yourself." The ranger sneered and got off his horse. His men followed his example.

"Mrs. Hartley, Mr. Elton over here claims you shot one of his men." Dan said and took a piece of paper out of his pocket. "Now here I have a signed arrest warrant from Mr. Cole, asking me to arrest you and your family for the murder of Mr. Jake Hoskins."

Mother eyed the ranger with her chin held high. "For all I care his name was Jesus Christ.. I didn't bother to ask his name when I shot him through his head." she spoke daringly.

Dan frowned and sighed, not feeling too keen about arresting a woman. "One of Mr. Elton's men also claimed to have seen the likes of Butch Cavendish on your land. Now I sure do hope he was mistaken of course cause I wouldn't want him to be anywhere near you or your family." He said. Mother chuckled and looked at Grandfather. "You hear that, Pa? Butch Cavendish has been spotted near our ranch. Well I sure do feel honoured now, Mr. Reid."

Dan shifted his weight slowly and breathed in deep. "Mrs. Hartley.." He started.

"I would remember it if Butch Cavendish was on my ranch, don't you think? And I don't recall any of the sort. Do you Pa?"

Grandfather shook his head slowly. Evans shifted in his saddle and spat in the dirt. "Lying ol' sow.." He grumbled. "I rode with that owl hoot for three years. I know what he looks like."

"That enough of you, Evans!" Dan said. "And I sure do hope that's true, Mary. But I gotta take you in. I promise you'll have a fair trial. You and your.. daughter. Where is she?" He looked around, but saw no one. Elton did the same, his eyes moving around the ranch quickly, his pointy nose in the air as if he tried to sniff her out.

"My daughter left. She went out to get new livestock and supplies for the barn. If you have the time, Mr. Reid. You can wait here on her. She'll be back in four days." Mother said. Elton looked at her sharply and narrowed his eyes. "She's lying.." he said. "I know her.. and I know her damn daughter. They're inseparable. That girl didn't go anywhere. And where is that ranch hand? Arrest him too, Ranger!"

Dan frowned. "Ranch hand? The Hartleys have no ranch hand, Henry. See, this isn't going anywhere. Your men claim to have seen not only Cavendish but also some imaginary ranch hand no one knows a thing about. "

"Evans might be a poor excuse of a man, but he's not blind! And he owes me far too much to be lying to me, Ranger! Ranch hand or not.. these women are to be taken into custody. Or didn't Mr. Cole make himself clear enough to you?" Elton shot back. Dan stared at him furiously. "Crystal.." He mumbled and took out his hand cuffs when he turned back to Mother.

From a crack in the wooden walls of the storage room both Eleanor and Frank took in the scene unfolding in front of them. The moment the ranger touched Mother's arm to hand cuff her, Grandfather lifted his shotgun and yelled something incoherent.

A shot was fired and the old man was thrown back into his rocking chair and hung over its arm rest like a grotesque rag doll, blood pooling around the chair as it swung back and forth. Elton put his smouldering gun back into its holster.

Eleanor tried to scream but Frank's hand was still firmly pressed against her mouth as he pulled her away from the wall and into his arms, muffling her crying against his shoulder. The only person's scream that echoed through the sky was Mother's as she struggled against the ranger's strong grip.

"Goddamn it, Henry!" Dan yelled. "Are you out of your damn mind?!"

"Get her out of here! Arrest her! Now we're even, Mrs. Hartley!" Elton said to the frantic woman as she was lead to the ranger's horse with difficulty. "Search the place!" Elton's men got off their horses.

"No one else is here, you damn fool!" Dan growled, helping Mother onto his horse.

"We'll see about that." Elton said and tossed a box of matches at Dan, who caught it with a confused expression. "Burn the house!"

"I will do no such thing!" Dan said and threw the matchbox back at him, causing the box to open and matches to fly everywhere. "Sit on it, Henry. I'm tired of your bullshit." The ranger said and turned his horse to begin his ride back to Colby. Mother's cries disappeared on the horizon.

Elton waited till the ranger was out of hearing range before turning to Evans. "I swear if that house isn't a pile of smouldering ash by tomorrow morning I'll blow your brains out." Evans nodded and Elton gazed at the house one more time before following in the ranger's trail.

Frank peered through the crack of the wooden boards and followed Evans with his sharp young eyes. The man circled around the house, spat in the dirt and looked at the destroyed barn for a moment. Making the young outlaw wonder when he was going to strike the match. It had gotten awfully quiet in the storage room. Moments ago, Eleanor's stifled cries had been the only sound. But she had grown silent. He frowned and looked over his shoulder to see what she was doing when he felt the barrel of his own gun press against the side of his head.

"I'm going to shoot him, Frank. And you won't stop me." She whispered, her voice raspy from crying. He frowned and held up his hands, whimpering softly. "Ah don't think that's a very good idea, miss Hartley. He might be quicker than you." she cocked the gun and he closed his eyes tightly at the sickening sound. "You sit here and be quiet." He nodded and the gun was removed. He watched her get up and open the door silently, peering around the doorway.

The clattering of pans could be heard. Evans had gone inside the house to see if there was anything to take before he'd commence to burn it down. He was bend over a chest in the livingroom and examined the various quilts mother had knitted over the years. It was easy to sneak up on him, easier than she had anticipated. He stiffened when a gun was pressed against the back of his head.

"You put that down, you low life or I'll kill you."

He dropped the quilt, held up his hands and smiled to himself. "I see ol' Cavendish taught you a few tricks, didn't he?" he chuckled. "How much of his imaginary Silver did he promise you for spreadin' yer legs for his gang?" She cocked the gun. "I will not stand for any profanity in my father's house. Cavendish has nothing to do with me knowing how to handle a gun. That was taught to me by my late father. Whose ranch you won't be burning down on my watch. Keep your hands where I can see them, and start walking backwards towards the front door."

For a moment it seemed like her plan was actually going to work, although a tingle of worry latched itself into the back of her mind about what she was going to do with this man once he was actually out of the house. She hadn't planned that far ahead when she had taken Frank's gun from its holster. But she didn't need to think about it. Evans, with his many years as a gunslinging outlaw, was much quicker than she was. He turned around and grabbed her wrist, yanking it to the side as she fired. She missed him by a few inches, and hit a burning oillamp instead, which shattered to the floor. The flames ignited the puddle of oil around one of the dining chairs. Evans wrung the gun from her hand and pulled her arms behind her back roughly, causing her to cry out in pain.

"Ahm sure Butch told you all about me, didn't he?" he snarled at her, his face close to her own. "Ah suppose there's time to finish what we started before I burn down yer daddy's house with you in it!" She kicked his knee and he cried out in pain. "Bitch!" He hollered and slammed her with her back down onto the table, pressing her arms down beside her head. "Now if ye keep trashing around like this, I might have to stake ye down to that here table te keep ye in one place until ahm done with you." She stopped moving, breathing rapidly, and stared up at him with furious eyes. The thick metallic taste of blood on her lips. He pressed the air from her lungs mercilessly as he pushed his weight down onto her thin frame and she could hear the sickening sound of him unbuckling his belt.

"Ah suppose ah could marry ye after this too. It's not like anyone who'd want a soiled dove anyhow." He chuckled. She spat at him and laughed as his haggard face was covered in red specks. He lifted his gun, and for a moment she thought he had had enough and was going to end her life, but he turned the pistol in his hand and slammed her across her face with the grip. The force of the impact against her head rendered her dizzy as blood gushed down her face. What happened next would forever be unclear to her, but his weight was suddenly pulled off of her. She tried to lift herself to see where he went, but her vision was too blurry.

Frank had pulled Evans off her and had slammed the back of his rifle into his face. Knocking him unconscious. His worried face came into view as he leaned over her. She blinked, flames were dancing behind him, the room was on fire. "We gotta go, miss Hartley. The house is on fire." She locked eyes with him and frowned. "Did you kill him?" she whispered. He shook his head frantically. "why not?" she asked. Plates fell from the cupboard as the wood was eaten by the flames. The loud crashing sound distracting Frank from answering her question right away. "Can we talk about that later?" he peeped. She shook her head, but only made herself more dizzy. She reached up to feel her head, and whimpered when her hand touched a deep wound.

"Come on, miss Hartley!" Frank pressed on and shoved one arm under her shoulders and the other under her knees. He pulled her up into his arms and carried her outside. Her head lolling back as she watched the living room disappear from her view for the last time. The place where she had just laid, quickly covered itself in flames. She was placed on the ground gently and watched Frank sprint back inside the house to retrieve the still unconscious Evans.

"No!" she yelled as he dragged the man across the porch. "I want him dead!" But Frank didn't stop until he had placed Evans with his back against a pole of the horse pen. He took out his rope and tied the man to it.

"Ah knows something better fer him." Frank said, his voice had something she hadn't heard before. There was no innocence left. "Ahm gonna tell Butch he's right here. Aint going nowhere." She gazed up at the sky, the first stars already visible, and breathed in the cold air polluted with smoke. She tilted her head and her eyes fell upon the lifeless body of her grandfather, hanging in his rockingchair. The sound of the crackling fire made her feel sick. She shut her eyes tightly to keep from crying. When the first sob escaped her lips, she was heaved into the air again and pushed onto Frank's horse. She struggled against it weakly. "I don't..want to go.." she cried.

He pushed her harder, until she was atop the horse, clinging to its manes feebly. Frank sat behind her, his arms like barriers around her and grabbed the reins.

"Come on, Bobby.. git us out of here!"

The horse started galloping, heading toward the mountain ridge. She peered over Frank's shoulder until the burning house was out of view. Then everything went black.


	12. Chapter 12

Thanks for all the follows and reviews, peeps! For all those who wished Evans a horrible death.. here's to you!

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It seemed like hours had passed when she woke up. they were still riding, and the jostling of the galloping horse made her feel dizzy and nauseous. They had left the vast desert behind them and were now in a more woodland area. The trees going by in fast passing rows. She listened to the exhausted snorting of the horse under her. His breath visible in the cool night air. Her head throbbed painfully, and she could feel her skin stretch with the dried up blood on her face. But the shoulder of the young man that held her firmly in the saddle was warm and she couldn't help but feel safe. She looked up at him, his eyes focused on the distance, a concentrated expression on his face. He must have noticed her gaze from the corner of his eyes for he turned to look at her for a quick moment.

"Yer up?" he asked.

"Where are we going?"

He didn't answer right away, too concentrated on steering his horse around a fallen tree and jumping over the next trunk they encountered. She knew where they were going, but she wanted to hear it from him. She wanted him to realize what danger he was putting her in.

"We gotta get that wound on yer head stitched or it'll fester and all" He answered. "Ah know what ahm doin'. Ye rest now. We got a long way te go."

She leaned her head against his shoulder and buried her face in his neck. His words had been more comforting than she had thought. Their weight shifted to the back of the saddle as the horse started climbing up a ridge. She looked at the horse's ears going back and forth, listening to Frank's gentle urging. The sounds around them changed from howling coyotes to screaming bobcats and crickets high up in the tree tops. She was vaguely aware of the howling of wolves in the distance, and the horse snorting restlessly before she lost consciousness once again.

It was hours later when Frank started seeing the light of a campfire up ahead. The gang had moved further away than he had anticipated, and he hoped this was indeed the men he was looking for. His horse was exhausted, and wouldn't be able to endure another hour in full gallop. Deciding he had no choice, he took his pistol and fired three shots in the air. He waited, shooting short glances at the unconscious woman in his arms. She seemed more dead than alive at the moment, and that thought frightened him. To his relief, three shots were fired in the near distance. He had found the gang.

"Goin' te be alright now, miss Hartley. Ah promise.." he said, more to himself than anyone. Two horsemen approached him in a steady trot.

"What the hell took you so long?" Asked Barret, halting his horse in front of Frank's. "Who's that?" Frank swallowed nervously and looked down at the half conscious charge in his arms. "Ye only saw her five days ago! How can ye not recognize her now? Rangers came and burned down the ranch. Ah had no choice.."

"The hell are you talking about?" Jesus asked in his thick Spanish accent.

"It don't matter te any of ye! Ah need te talk to Butch.." Frank said defiantly. Barret chuckled and looked at Jesus with a knowing smile. "Ye sure do. He aint gonna like this at all. And he aint in anymore of an amiable mood than five days ago.. Ah don't know what she's good at, but healing sure aint one of her talents." He said.

Frank shot him an angry look and steered his horse around the other two, up the ridge to a small open space in the thick forest. He scanned the campsite for his leader and found him sitting next to Ray, wrapped in conversation. He got off his horse and gently lifted the girl in his arms. Butch's eyes widened at the sight, in a flash he was at Frank's side, startling him so he almost dropped Eleanor on the frozen ground.

"What the hell do ye think yer doin'?!" Butch hollered. Frank stared at him in fear, trying to say something, but he was interrupted. "Answer me, Frank!"

"Ahm tryin'!" Frank peeped nervously. "Rangers came.. and they took Mrs. Hartley away.. they shot her Grandpa and then they burned down them ranch and Evans he.. well he got a hold on er and all" Butch's expression darkened as he listened to the story. In a swift movement, he took out his knife and held it up at Frank. "Ye better start talking straight er ah'll cut ye up so bad yer own mother won't know ye.. what did he do?"

Silence.

"FRANK!"

"Nuthin'! He tried.. but he hit her hard, see?.. ah knocked him out cold. Tied him te a post for ya.. Ah knew ye'd.. git angry and all." Frank said, a wicked grin on his face. He had seen his leader do it many times before, and it had disgusted him every time. But right now, he was requesting it.

Butch stared at him for a moment, his expression impassive, and moved his eyes down to the girl in Frank's arms.

"Take er back.." He grumbled and turned away. Frank took a step in his direction. "Take er back te what? Butch, they burned down her house.. there aint no place fer her to go back to. I'd be leavin' her out in the desert with nuthin'… Ah can't take her to Colby cause they're lookin' fer her. They gonna hang her ma.. they will hang her too if they see her!"

He was talking to Butch's back, but he knew his leader was listening to every word, and analysing every option there was to handle this situation in a matter that would leave him in control no matter what.

"What do ye want me te do about it, Frank?" Butch asked calmly, turning back to face the youngest member of his gang. Frank looked lost and almost exasperated. "She helped you, didn't she? I mean Hell..She was very nice te you. Ah don't know why we couldn't help er at all." He said. Butch gazed at him, the kid had a way to strike chords in a man's heart like no one else could. Which was why Frank was a respected member of the gang, even though it didn't show at all times. Ray approached Butch slowly, scratching the back of his head as he usually did when he was nervous. "We can atleast stitch er up and.. see what te do next." He said.

Butch looked at the faces of each member of his gang. Barret and Jesus had joined the small circle now as well. Skinny stared at the girl in Frank's arms as if he had never seen a woman before.

"Well, Jack.." Butch said smugly. Barret looked up at his leader at the mention of his first name. Only used in serious situations, even though Butch looked rather amused at what he was about to say. "I got a patient for ye."

The look Frank received from Barret could have killed him, but the young man was too relieved that he could put the girl down for she was getting rather heavy. The young woman whimpered when she was placed on a dusty saddle blanket and Frank's warmth moved away from her. He took her hand gently, not really knowing what to do, but was shoved aside roughly a moment later.

"Move.." Barret mumbled gruffly. "Git me one of them whiskey bottles over there." Frank nodded and got up to carry out his instructions. With great precision only a skilled and experienced army surgeon possessed, Barret prepared a needle and threat that he kept in a small tin box. A useful attribute to have out in the wilderness. Frank returned and handed Barret the bottle.

"what else, Jack?" Frank asked, wanting to help. Barret didn't answer as he took out a handkerchief, wetted it with the strong liquor and cleaned out the wound on the woman's forehead. "Ye can hold er down fer me in a minute." He said.

Frank gulped nervously. "what is she gonna do that ah need te hold er down for?" Barret looked up at him with an annoyed expression. "Just hold her arms for me, ye idiot. Stop asking me questions." The rest of the gang watched the ordeal from a distance. They had all been stitched up by Barret at some point, and they all knew what it felt like when there was nothing to numb the pain but a good swig of Whiskey. They would never admit to themselves they felt sorry for the young woman, cause empathy wasn't a trade any of them felt willing to adopt, but their silence and distance spoke volumes. Butch paced around the campsite restlessly, shooting looks at the young woman being tended to by his gangmember every so often.

"Don't make a scar.." Frank pleaded softly when the needle was about to hit Eleanor's skin. Both men locked eyes for a moment. The army surgeon sighed in annoyance and lowered the needle.

To get the best access to her wound, and thus reduce the chance of creating scars, Barret lifted one leg over Eleanor's unconscious frame so he was hovering just above her. He examined the wound closely, a menacing look on his face. "It's gonna leave a scar no matter what.." he mumbled. "It's a deep cut." When the needle dug into her soft skin, and a trail of blood trickled down her face, Frank looked away, unable to stand the sight. For a moment it seemed the young girl would go through this without feeling any of it, but she started squirming after the third time the needle pierced her skin.

"Hold er down, boy.." Barret said again. Frank did his best, but he wasn't much stronger than Eleanor herself. She opened her eyes to stare straight into Barret's, a stranger to her, basically sitting on top of her. The position they were in reminded her much of her experience with Evans, and her eyes widened in fear. "Lay still.." Barret told her, his expression dark, but all she could think of was trying to get him off her. Now more awake, she started trashing more violently and screamed out in pain when the needle was pushed through her skin again. The gang took a step back in uneasiness. It was never a pleasant sound to hear a young woman scream in agony.

Still not completely aware of what the man on top of her was trying to do, she brought her knee up fast, hitting him hard in the small of his back. He cursed loudly in pain and dropped the needle to catch his own weight with his hands. "OW! Knock it off, ye little hellcat! Jesus! Hold down er legs or she gonna break my spine!"

Big hands wound themselves around her legs, rendering her completely immobile. The stitching continued with violent and forceful precision. The girl cried, screamed, and it seemed like she'd never stop scaring the birds from the trees. Skinny had his ears covered and stared at it all in utter shock.

She screamed till her throat was red and raw and her voice gave up on her. She cried till she couldn't see anymore because the tears filled up her eyes and pooled around her lashes. She tried to move and trash around until her body was exhausted from the effort and she could do nothing more but lay still and listen to her heavy breathing. The pain had stopped, and she looked up at the man on top of her, blinking slowly. He didn't look as shocked as the other two men holding her, but he was panting just like her. He wrapped a strip of linen soaked in whiskey around her wound. The hands on her legs disappeared, leaving bruises from her struggling, none of which she was aware of at the present time.

Barret moved off her slowly, his back aching from the violent kick. He stood up, stretched painfully from the hunched over position he had been in and decided to leave the nursing to others better equipped for it. Frank covered the now shivering woman with an old raggedy blanket, most likely his own, and sat by her side calmly.

"Where's Butch?" Asked Barret after taking a deep swig from a bottle of Whiskey to ease the pain in his back. No one had noticed the gang leader taking off, all eyes had been on the young woman's painful treatment.

"Where do you think he is?" Ray said, poking up the fire with a stick. "He's gone after Evans, of course. That bastard crossed him one too many times."

"That's a six hour ride from here!" Barret protested.

"Seven.." Frank corrected him, looking up at the surgeon for a moment. "Seven hours if yer nice te yer horse. But I don't think he's gonna be as nice to Annabel as I was to Bobby."

Barret spat on the ground angrily. The Whiskey dulling the pain in his back, as well as numbing his brain function. But it didn't matter. Soon all of them would nestle down for the night, and it didn't matter if you were drunk out of your gorge in your sleep.

Eleanor was vaguely aware of her surroundings. Her head throbbed painfully, and the voices around her were dulled like they were behind a glass door. When she opened her eyes, the world started spinning and closed them again quickly. Her throat burned from her excessive screaming, and she coughed pitifully.

"Give her some Whiskey.." Barret instructed reluctantly as he sat down close to the campfire, his back to Frank and his patient. "And put some laudanum in it. Two drops will do. It's in my left saddlebag." He lifted his shirt and peered over his shoulder to look at the bruise she caused him. He scoffed at the tender spot, already turning a bright purple. "Damn Hellcat.." He growled.

The cold rim of a glass bottle was pressed against her lips and she was forced to choke down the strong liquor. She coughed on the unkind taste, the fumes burning her throat like hot oil, now mixed with the bitterness of laudanum.

Barret was obviously tired of her whimpering, cause mixed with the strong alcoholic drink, laudanum was sure to render someone unconscious for a good few hours. None of the outlaws felt like listening to a suffering young woman while they were trying to sleep, and the surgeon huffed when Ray scolded him for knocking her out this way.

She dreamed of her mother in her alcohol induced slumber. Arms tight behind her back, slowly being led to a rope hanging from a lone tree by men in fine suits and bowler hats. She saw the lifeless body of her grandfather, coyotes ripping away his clothes and pulling out parts of meat. One of the wild dogs looked at her, its snout covered in blood, its eyes a sky blue. There was fire, lots of fire, all around her. As if the world was going up in flames. The coyotes yelped and howled. She saw Evans, tied to a pole and struggling to get away from the wild dogs nipping and yapping at his feet. A horse snorted and the man looked up at the sound. His eyes widened in fear when he saw who dismounted. Two snake leather boots landed on the dusty ground and approached him calmly, his step swaying, causing the coyotes to flee in mutual panic. Evans pleaded, holding up his hands in surrender, tears running down his bearded face. The owner of the snake leather boots reached down to retrieve a knife from its holster tied around his leg. All went dark when the man's agonizing cries scared away the vultures that had been waiting patiently for him to die.

She bolted upright, torn from her nightmare, and her body collided with another. Without thinking, she wrapped her arms around this unknown person, seeking comfort in anything she could find. She listened to her heavy breathing and rapidly beating heart for a moment, her chin on the stranger's shoulder. For a moment it seemed he was going to let her, but then his hands found their way to her slender arms and pushed her back down.

"Git off me. Stop it.. Ahm trying to look at yer stitches." Barret mumbled gruffly. Embarrassed, she did as she was told and blinked at him slowly while he was examining his own work critically. It was dark around them. The campfire reduced to a pit of smouldering logs. She listened to the snoring of the rest of the men, all of them in deep sleep.

"Where's Frank?" She asked him. She knew she had seen him before, when they delivered Butch at her home, but she didn't know his name. The man didn't seem willing to converse with her and just shot her an irritated look while he changed the bandages around her head. "What is your name?" she tried again. Again it seemed like he wasn't going to answer and she frowned in embarrassment, averting her gaze.

"I'm Jack Barret"

Frank had mentioned that name to her on multiple occasions. She could even recall Butch telling her something about a Barret. Her mind still scrambled from the blow to her head, she tried to remember what they had told her about this man.

"You're the one with the headaches.." she said. Did she just say that out loud? The look on his face was priceless. A mixture of surprise and slight embarrassment, but it soon turned into his usual dark expression.

"I see that goofball can't keep somethin' to himself to save his life." He mumbled gruffly, taking a swig from the whiskey bottle meant for her wound.

"I meant no disrespect.." she spoke quietly and watched him struck a match to light his cigarette, gazing at her quietly. She reached up to touch her bandaged head, the wrappings freshly soaked in whiskey. It stung her open skin, but she knew it was to fight infection.

"Are you a doctor?" she asked. He blew the smoke into the cold air of night and watched it create ghostly patterns in the dark. He shook his head slowly and chuckled at her dazed expression. This girl was so out of it. He recognized a concussion when he saw one, and she definitely got her noodle seriously scrambled.

"Go to sleep. Ye need it." He got up and walked away, leaving her to her own thoughts. She wondered about her dream, had it held any truth to any events? It was too dark to identify the men sleeping around the campfire. They were laying at quite a distance. She wondered why no one dared to lay any closer to her. Somehow she knew Butch wasn't one of the sleeping outlaws. He slept in utter silence, like a desert reptile awaiting an ambush from a bird of prey. She hoped her next dream wouldn't cook up the same horrid images they had shown her before. she closed her eyes and listened to the sounds of the woods around her until birds announced the first morning light had been seen, then sleep took her once again.

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R&R please!


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Thanks for all the reviews!

By noon the next day, the everyday life of the people in the small town of Colby was violently disrupted by a bleeding man crawling through the main dusty street. Horses and wagons avoided him in surprise and several people gasped in horror at the man's gruesome injuries. When he reached the sheriff's office, and climbed the few steps onto the wooden porch, Dan Reid had already been informed of the man's presence. The doctor was summoned from his previous call concerning a pregnant goat. The shrivelled and badly wounded man was carried to the doctor's office and placed on the bloody examination table under his own loud protests. There was only one person he wanted to talk to, and that was Latham Cole. One of Dan's deputies was send to go and get the esteemed member of the small town immediately.

"Evans, we need te sitch ye up er you're gonna bleed out on us.." Dan spoke sourly. "What were you doing out in the desert by yourself anyway? Where is your horse?" The questions remained unanswered. He wasn't exactly fond of the cruel ex outlaw, who bought himself free with money he stole from the Cavendish gang. Money that wasn't the gang's in the first place. The rest of Dan's rangers shared this feeling, and once they had all peered around the doorway to see what had happened to Evans, they quickly baptized the wounded man "Bobby Dickless" A suitable albeit cruel name.

When the doctor arrived, he froze in the doorway of his own office at the sight before him. The man of medicine and veterinary arts, a combination of studies not uncommon in these parts, had never before seen a man with injuries of such violent and gruesome nature. But living out in the vast spaces of the West had taught the elderly doctor that no matter how civilized people liked to be, the urge to harm and kill eachother would be following mankind around like a rabid dog with no owner, always in the footsteps of those trying to do right.

"Who goes out into the desert alone and has himself attacked by coyotes anyway? Didn't your mother teach you not to roam around outside of town at night?" The doctor complained after fixing what could be fixed. Evans took a deep swig from a bottle of whiskey and spat on the floor, causing the doctor to click his tongue in protest.

"Was no coyote. It was bloody hell Cavendish that did this te me! That goddamn cannibal injun killer! All because of that little whore!" said Evans. Dan, who had been sitting in a chair at the doctor's desk, rubbing his eyes tiredly, looked up in irritated confusion.

"I'm getting mighty tired of your whining about Cavendish, Evans. I'll tell you that much. He's miles away from here.. he don't come near any ranches. And exactly what whore are you referring to anyway?" he said.

"That Hartley gurl! The one that old cow claimed wasn't there! Well she was there alright! Along with the ranch hand you claimed didn't exist! Damn you, ranger! Do yer homework next time!" Evans replied and spat in the ranger's direction. Dan shook his head and got up, exasperated. "She told me so herself her daughter was away to get supplies for that barn you and that damn Elton burned down! If she was there, then I'd like to know what you've done to her, Evans!" He grabbed the front of Evans' shirt and pulled him close to his face, ignoring the doctor's scolding remarks.

"I haven't done a thang" Said Evans, struggling to get free. "If yer so interested in her, ye gotta ask that ranch hand where she at.. A young feller! Couldn't be a day over 25! Light hair, blue eyes.. carried a Winchester around. Ask him!"

Dan frowned in anger. "I told you the Hartleys have no ranch hand! There was no one else there but the old man your foreman killed! You don't make any damn sense, Evans! A Winchester? What on earth would a ranch hand do with a rifle like that?!"

A second ranger, named Hollis, who had been leaning against the doorpost for the duration of Evans' surgery, shifted in uneasiness. "Sounds like Frank Taylor." He said. "Light hair.. blue eyes? Winchester repeater.. sounds like the kid's that been riding with Cavendish. We got a poster of him somewhere, Dan."

"I'll get it" said Dan and let go of the injured man's shirt mid-air, causing him to fall back onto the table harshly. "I gotta get out of here anyway before I do something I'll regret. Let's see if Evans is right. Would be the first time, I can tell ye that."

When the ranger entered the sheriff's office and ripped Frank's wanted poster off the wall, he shot a quick glance at the older woman sitting on the bunkbed in her cell. Her back straight, her arms crossed and a defiant stare on her pale, weathered face. She hadn't said a word since they brought her here the night before last. Every question had been answered with nothing but a steely glare. Dan hesitated, and then held up the poster for the woman to see.

"Do you recognize this young man, Mrs. Hartley?" He asked. She looked at the poster for a moment before giving the ranger another glare that told him she wasn't going to help him solve any of this. "Cause if you do.." Dan continued. "I'm going to have to tell you that you've been keeping a wanted man around your property."

She averted her gaze from him and remained silent. He sighed, decided he was wasting his time and left to show the poster to Evans. For all the man's lowlife style of living, he was the one to go to if Dan wanted answers right now. To the ranger's unpleasant surprise, Evans recognized Frank immediately.

"That's him! That's the damn kid that slammed his rifle into mah face and broke mah jaw! He rides with Cavendish! He got that girl!" The wounded scumbag exclaimed, pointing at the picture. Before Dan could answer, a sharp knock against the doorpost of the office indicated that Cole had arrived, with Elton following close behind.

"What seems to be the problem, Mr. Reid?" Cole asked with an obvious fake smile. Dan sighed, shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck. "I need some clarification on this, Mr. Cole. I arrested Mrs. Hartley for killing one of your men like you asked. But now it turns out Evans stayed behind to look for the daughter of Mrs. Hartley and found her too.. even though the woman told me the girl went out to get supplies for their ruined barn.. and now it turns out some young man Evans claims to ride with Cavendish took her with him, ah mean, this has all been getting way out of hand and I'd like to know why."

Cole looked over his shoulder at Elton, an unamused expression on his face. "Yes, I understand. This has all developed in a most unprofessional way, I agree. You see, Mr. Reid. I seem to have hired a man that likes to work with creatures such as Evans right there. I can assure you, I wasn't aware of the damage they caused. Then again, I stand by what I told you earlier.. The Hartley family have been crossing me for over a year. Refusing to hand over their barren land to me so that I might do something useful with it. I suppose my men lost their patience after so many fruitless negotiations." He explained.

"That don't justify burning down their barn and killing a family member. Your lapdog over there killed Mrs. Hartley own father in law, for Christ's sake. That woman lost her damn husband three winters ago!" Dan shot back, pointing at Elton cowering behind Cole's sturdy frame. "And we don't even know where the girl is now!" He continued, holding his arms open.

Cole held up his hand to calm the infuriated ranger. "I would very much appreciate it if you lowered your voice when you're speaking to me, Mr. Reid. Your frustrations will not solve any of our problems. Of course we'll do anything in our power to locate the child, I promise you. And since Evans is the one who saw her last, I think you should be interrogating him and not me." The rail baron spoke calmly.

"Evans claims Cavendish was the one attacking him.. he claims.. Cavendish has the girl. If that is true.. I don't know what to do.. I don't know!" Dan continued, rubbing his forehead tiredly. Cole's expression hadn't changed, but some could have sworn the man had stopped breathing for a split second.

"Then I suggest you get right to it, Mr. Reid. We can't have outlaw gangs kidnapping our children and dragging them across the wilderness just because our rangers simply don't know what to do. I'll leave it up to you to inform that poor woman of this news. After all.. she's in your cell." Said Cole and turned to make his leave.

"That was your initiative, Mr. Cole." Dan spoke to his back resolutely, causing the man to stand dead in his tracks and slowly turn to face the ranger. "I beg your pardon?" Cole asked. "To put Mrs. Hartley in my cell was your idea.. or.. Mr. Elton's idea really. But since he works for you and all. I suppose you two entertain the same line of thought." Dan answered, defying the railroad baron.

Cole took a step in the ranger's direction. "Let me get this straight, Mr. Reid. Are you telling me my treatment of the widow Hartley looks inhumane in your eyes? Do I really need to remind you that she's in a current state of awaiting trial for killing one of my agents? And apparently that same widow harboured a vicious wanted outlaw on her property, and that very same vicious wanted outlaw now mangled one of my men beyond repair and kidnapped a supposedly innocent young girl? And all you can tell me is that you don't know what to do." He mocked. " I am inhumane? I've done my job, Mr. Reid.. I wish I could say the same about you." Cole spoke menacingly. The ranger narrowed his eyes, standing his ground.

"Yer all a bunch of idiots.." wheezed Evans between deep swigs of Whiskey. The two men looked up at him. "The last thing that little prairie sweetheart needs is any of ye savin' er.. she don't need te be saved. She sleeps in Cavendish' arms at night.. That kid told him what ah did te her and that's why he came after me.. she don't need savin'. Yer all about te need savin' yourselves if ye gone and hurt that old sow." He slurred.

Dan looked shocked at the news, but Cole seemed as impassive as always and hadn't even shifted his weight. He stood rigid like the wall he liked to view himself as. A rock people broke themselves on. "I don't recall ever hearing Cavendish takes to introducing children into his gang of misfits." The rail baron spoke calmly. Evans scoffed and spat out some blood on the wooden floor, receiving more scolding from the old doctor.

"Cavendish is a proud, haughty cocksucker.. he wouldn't rip someone te shreds for just standing in the way. He has his pack of dogs to do that for him. But when it gets personal.. He comes after ye himself." Evans continued, but Dan wasn't there any more to listen to him.

He had left the doctor's office and ran across the dusty road into his own office, grabbing the steel bars of the cell tightly.

"What is your daughter to Cavendish?!" He asked Mrs. Hartley, but she didn't answer. She hadn't changed position at all and was glaring at him coldly.

"You answer me now, Mary! What has been going on at that ranch without my knowledge?! Did you know your daughter is gone?! Has that sank in yet?! Where is she?!" he continued. She blinked and looked away, processing his words. He didn't know if she was surprised or shocked at the news. But she seemed temporarily caught off guard.

"What is she to Cavendish? Please.." Dan tried again, leaning his head against the bars. "You have to help me if you want me to help you."

"I don't need your help. Nor does my daughter."

He looked up when he heard her voice. She had gotten up from her bunkbed and approached him slowly, clutching the hem of her worn, soiled dress. He had known the woman for such a long time, and she had always seemed to carry a smile for him whenever she was in town. So the menacing look on her dirtied face hurt him in a very personal way.

"Where were you when those pigs burned down my farm and killed all my animals?! Where were you then, Mr. Reid the Texas ranger! Where were you.. when that animal of an Elton shot my father in law?! You stood by and watched.. cause you had your orders. I suppose the orders changed now, didn't they? And now you expect me to help you?!" she hissed. "I'd rather swing from a tree branch in the morning sun then to aid you in getting a clear conscience!" she spat at him and he backed away.

He gazed at the furious, broken woman in silent sympathy and sighed deeply. "I would ask your forgiveness if I knew that would help us solve this problem right now, Mrs. Hartley. But it won't change the fact your daughter might be in grave danger." He said softly, causing her to let out a joyless laugh.

"I know my daughter." She said, gazing at the ranger with a determined expression. "I don't worry about her for one second. As long as there are people like you, Henry Elton and Latham Cole.. Cavendish is not the worst of my problems."

Defeated, Dan left the sheriff's office to begin rounding up his men for the search party. He didn't know if he was doing the right thing. But no matter what had happened at the Hartley's ranch concerning Butch Cavendish, he knew what the outlaw was capable of, and it was no place for a young woman.

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 **R &R please! **


	14. Chapter 14

Thank you so much for all the wonderful reviews!

Chapter 14

Butch returned when breakfast was being prepared by Jesus. The gang had been poorly supplied for weeks, but Skinny had successfully gone out to shoot some rabbits in the earliest hours of the morning. Jesus' rabbit stew was nothing to write home about, but it would feed the hungry outlaws and keep their whining for more substances at a bay for atleast a few good hours.

Butch dismounted stiffly and gave the exhausted chestnut mare a few half meant pats on her powerful neck. Damn this horse for being the most patient creature he had ever come across in his lifetime. Ray got up from his spot around the campfire and approached his leader when he tied a second horse to a tree.

"Evans' horse, I take it?" The oldest gang member asked, patting the scruffy looking old grey horse. "Cause I'm pretty sure you left with only one."

Butch nodded, removing the horse's saddle and throwing it unceremoniously down on the soggy ground. Dust clouds flying through the air from the old unkempt saddle blanket, its Aztec patterns in faded colors. "He's been riding that ol' nag for as long as I've known him" he mumbled. "She'll do fine for the girl."

Ray raised an eyebrow and looked over his shoulder for a moment, the young woman still vast asleep in her little corner. "Don't Evans need the horse himself? Or should I not even inquire about the fool?" His leader chuckled softly and shrugged. "Ah don't think he fancy riding for a while to come, let me put it that way." He said with an evil wink.

Ray didn't seem moved by the news that might have disgusted men much tougher than himself. He had been riding with Butch for so long, nothing would surprise the old man anymore. "I take it you killed him?" he asked.

Butch sniffed, looking up at the tree tops for a moment, as if contemplating his answer. "Ah don't think ah did.." he spoke eventually, glaring at Ray. "Ah thought I'd let the fool make himself useful to me one more time. After that he can die as many deaths as he wants. What's it to ye anyway?"

The older man shrugged and shook his head. "Nuthin'. I didn't like Evans any more than you did. What he did to women wasn't right. Ah was just thinkin'.. if ye didn't kill him.. then what te Hell have ye been doing te him? Or is that somethin' ah really don't need to hear before breakfast?"

Butch just gave him a toothy grin and fished the bottle of whiskey from his calloused hand. He took a deep swig, sending the strong liquid to trickle down his chin before wiping it away with his shirt sleeve. "Always makes me so damn thirsty." He told his gang member.

"Yea, ah git it. Spare me any details." Said Ray. Butch shrugged and took another swig of whiskey. "If you insist.." he chuckled.

"Ah do. And that girl aint goin' anywhere soon. She aint fit te ride, er do anything. Evans fucked her up pretty bad. So whatever you took from him, I hope it hurt."

Butch peered around Ray at the sleeping form of the young woman that had saved his life, his expression vacant as he felt the liquor kick in and cloud his tired brain. "It hurt.." He confirmed, giving Ray a small smile, his silver plated tooth showing. "Surprised ye didn't hear his wailing from here.. he was at it like a little gurl. Sounded worse than she did.. " He mumbled, nodding at the young woman.

Ray gazed at him with a stern expression, the kind that told any member of the gang to quit fucking around and face the music.

"She can't ride.." he repeated. "And we need te keep movin'. If Evans reaches Colby.."

The gangleader's expression darkened. "Shut up.." Butch interrupted him and took a step closer. "Ye abandoned me at that fucking ranch when ah wasn't fit te ride, and now yer gonna abandon the one who took care of my sorry ass. Ye wasted yer credit on that little trick. Don't think ah forgot. Ah'll deal with you when we git this matter solved. Until then.. ye stay out of it." He hissed at the older man, and moved past him making sure his shoulder bumped into Ray's roughly.

A silence fell over the rest of the gang when they noticed Butch walking up to the sleeping girl, and sinking down stiffly to one knee beside her cot. Feeling their stares, the leader peered over his shoulder at his men.

"The next pair o' eyes ah feel burning into mah back are mine!" He growled. From the tone in his voice, the gang knew he meant it, and they averted their eyes immediately, focusing on their breakfast instead. It seemed a shame to wake her. She had never failed to grand him his much needed rest when he lay ill. But no matter how much he hated the old fool for reminding him, Ray had a point. The rangers would be hot on their trail once Evans' had done his story. And if he was to believe Frank's explanation, the girl's life was on the line as well.

Butch leaned in to take a closer look at the bandages around the young girl's head. Barret had obviously realized her well-being was to his own benefits as well. He had done a decent job stitching her wound and binding it in whiskey soaked wrappings. More decent than usual, anyway. Figuring he needed her awake to see in what state she was, he reached out and shook her shoulder, trying to be as gentle as he possibly could. With a startled gasp she opened her eyes and backed away from his touch.

"whoa there.. easy now." He said, holding up his hands. "It's only me." He grinned, knowing full well how ridiculous that must have sounded. Nevertheless, she calmed when she recognized him, probably more than she should. "You're back.." she whispered, her voice hoarse and still uncooperative from her screams of pain.

He nodded. "Sit up.." He told her and took hold of her arm to help her pull herself into a sitting position. "Slowly.." He instructed. The world danced in front of her eyes, and she felt a wave of nausea hit her shocked system. But his hands on her shoulders steadied her, and she knew he wouldn't let her fall back onto the saddle blanket.

"Look at me.." He said.

With difficulty, she did as she was told, and gazed into his blue eyes. Her head throbbed as if there was a demon locked inside her brain that was trying to club its way out of her skull with a hammer. Butch made her follow his finger with her eyes and grinned when she did so successfully.

"How's yer head, little lady?" he asked, keeping his voice down to avoid his men listening in on their conversation.

She brought a hand to her forehead to steady herself, and slowly her mind started clearing up. Enough for her to look at him without seeing double. He didn't look worried, more observant and patiently waiting for her answer. He let her go when he was certain she could hold herself up and sat back a little, giving her room to collect her bearing.

"Hurts.." she said, rubbing her eyes in an attempt to get rid of the dizziness.

"Hurts, huh?" He said, reaching out to take her hand away from her eyes. "Don't punish yer eyes now, they can't help it either." He reached into his coat pocket and showed her a small branch with tiny yellow flowers. "You know what this is?"

She stared at it as if she was drunk, not able to focus her vision on it completely. "Looks like some of the weeds that grow around our ranch." She mumbled.

"The Injuns call it Snakeweed. Strongest painkiller I know.. I'll prepare it for you, if ye promise me to try and eat something. Do we have a deal, little miss shark?"

Her stomach turned at the prospect of food, but she was more than willing to try anything to take away the harsh throb in her head. She nodded weakly in agreement and was mildly aware of the wink he gave her just before he got up and walked away.

Frank got to his feet quickly when he noticed Butch was done talking to the young girl and made his way back to join the others "How's she doin' Butch?" He asked nervously. "How's er head?"

"Git her to eat something.." Butch said without looking at him. Frank nodded frantically. The gang leader sat down on one of the blankets around the campfire and started plucking the yellow leaves off the branch and putting them in an empty cup. The others observed his actions curiously, but Butch gave no explanation and ignored them completely.

"Ye don't actually believe that Injun witch doctor stuff.." Barret huffed, as he seemed to be the only one realizing what Butch was doing. The gang leader gave no reply, causing Barret to scoff mockingly. "Only Laudanum kills pain, Butch. There's actual science to back that up." Barret continued.

Butch shot him an irritable look when he reached to grab the kettle with hot water, pouring it on the leaves slowly. "Ah believe what I've seen." He grumbled. "Laudanum's only for hopeless cases like yourself, ye idiot."

While the hot water was soaking up the healing qualities of the leaves, Frank had sat down next to the young woman with a plate of food that probably looked worse than it tasted. "How ye feelin' miss Eleanor?" He peeped softly. She did her best to smile at him in reassurance, not wanting the young man to worry more than necessary. As the memories became more clear, she realized he had been the one that saved her life. She reached out to grasp his hand affectionately, causing him to look rather panicked.

"I'm fine, Frank. I haven't had the opportunity to thank you yet. For all you've done for me." She said.

He blinked, staring at her in confusion. "Whut..did ah do?"

For some reason, she was utterly grateful for the young outlaw's ever present confusion. He never failed to make her laugh. Even now, through her pain, she chuckled at his ignorance and shook her head.

"You were my knight in shining armor, Frank. All that was missing was the white horse." She told him kindly, giving his slender hand a small squeeze. He beamed at her, his face an uncommon shade of red.

"Well ah couldn't just stand there and watch that man do whut he wanted te you." He uttered, grinning from ear to ear. "But ah think Butch got em real good last night, so that's all taken care of now." Her smile faded slowly at that news and she peered over Frank's shoulder at the gang leader. She vividly remember the horrible dream she had about it, and now wondered if it could have been more than just images of a feverish brain.

Noticing her uneasiness at the subject, Frank cleared his throat and placed the plate on her lap. "Anyways.." he started, nodding at the food. "Butch says ye need te eat if ye want te git better." It took her a while to avert her gaze from the vicious leader of this motley crew of bandits, longer than she liked to admit to herself. But eventually, she looked down at the unappetizing mess on the old iron plate.

"What is it?" she asked, staring at it with an uncertain look on her face. Frank frowned, following her gaze. "Ah have te admit ah like yer mother's rabbit stew much better.. But it aint all bad. It's all right." He shrugged.

She didn't think she still had tears left, but when Frank mentioned her mother, she felt her eyes fill up and cloud her vision. She reached up to wipe them away roughly, not wanting to cry in front of a gang of outlaws. She noticed Frank's sympathetic expression and tried to smile through the tears running down her cheeks.

"I hate crying.." she admitted, chuckling bitterly.

"I do too. But sometimes ah can't help myself." Frank said and shrugged. "Ah always cry when ah see a dog. Cause that reminds me of the dog ah left behind at home. He was mah best friend."

She picked up the spoon while listening to his story, feeling distracted from her own pain. And reminded that she was surrounded by people who all had their experience with losses. If there were people on God's good earth that understood her sadness, it was this crew of misfits.

"what was his name?" she asked as she took a careful first bite. Chewing on the tough meat slowly. She had to admit, it looked worse than it tasted.

"Sam.. And before Sam, we had Spot. I don't know why mah pa named him Spot, he had no spots at all." Frank said, looking sincerely confused. She couldn't help but chuckle at his endearing story. Her tears had stopped and she was slowly calming down.

"Thank you, Frank." She said, taking another spoonful, half expecting another question about what she was thanking him for. But he only smiled at her. He knew full well he was cheering her up.

Butch returned when she was halfway through her plate, and kicked the side of Frank's leg, indicating he wanted the young man's spot. "Git up and go do something useful." He grumbled. Frank got to his feet clumsily, dusting off his pants with a small. "Yes, Butch"

"My moment of revenge." The gang leader announced and sank down to one knee beside her, handing over the steaming cup. "You've been forcing that bitter crap down my throat for days. Now it's mah turn."

She peered into the cup curiously. The dark yellow liquid giving off a strange sweet smell. A scent she recognized after rain in the summer. "Does it taste bad?" she asked.

"Ah don't think it works with sugar in it." He mocked her. She had told him the exact same thing concerning laudanum days ago. He grinned at her unamused expression and nodded at the cup. "ye gotta chuck that while it's hot."

She took a careful sip and made a face. The taste a foul bitter sweet. He laughed as if someone had just cracked the funniest joke of the century. The warm liquid reached her stomach and made it turn in uneasiness, a simple reaction to something tasting that unnaturally bad.

"Disgusting.." she complained.

"All of it." He spoke sternly, his smile suddenly gone, as if she was a stubborn sick child refusing to take its medicine. "I want to see the bottom of that cup."

"Yes, nurse.." She sighed in annoyance and gave him an angry glare, but it didn't seem to impress him at all. Deciding she wanted to get it over with, she downed the contents of the cup, swallowing with difficulty. She handed him back the cup, and he inspected it tauntingly, holding it upside down to see if she had missed a few drops.

"Good girl.." He complimented. "Now lay back down and close your eyes." He instructed, taking hold of her arm to gentle guide her back onto the saddle blanket. She could feel the effects of the leaves starting to work on her brain. "I feel lightheaded.." she said in slight alarm, reaching up to touch her forehead.

"yea, don't fight it. It's alright. I told ye before it's potent stuff." He said, his voice sounding oddly twisted.

"Will you stay with me?"

There was a short silence, followed by a deep sigh and a dull thud as he sat down in a more comfortable position. She vaguely heard him remove his belt, the jingling of the buckle sounded like bells to her hallucinating brain.

"Ahm here.."

The confirmation gave her a sense of safety that allowed her to relax and leave her body to be worked on by the plant's healing qualities. A remedy older than her entire family's bloodline no doubt. She had failed to ask Butch where he had learned Indian healing methods, but she wasn't sure he was willing to answer such a thing anyway. The last thing she felt was someone draping a blanket over her now shivering form, after that she lost consciousness.

R&R please!


	15. Chapter 15

Sorry for the slow updates, folks. Enjoy.

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She woke up with her face buried in something warm and solid. Something that smelled like horses, leather and gunpowder. It wasn't an unpleasant smell, it reminded her much of what her father had smelled like when he returned from the war. Feeling the cold wind rush over her exposed shoulder, she nestled closer to the warmth that radiated from this object. She would have preferred to stay in her comfortable slumber, but the men bustling about the camp were making too much noise for her to fall asleep again.

They were packing. It was time to leave. Like a regular bunch of cow herders waking up and starting their day, the cool brisk morning air smelled like fire and fresh coffee. Although her mind was a lot clearer than before, she had no idea of time or day, no idea how long she had slept. The harsh throb in her head had replaced itself with the dizzy after effects of the drug induced coma she was waking up from. She didn't feel much for opening her eyes either, her eyelids still felt as heavy as bricks, and the men would know she was awake, and would want her to get up and get moving. They were talking to eachother, allowing her to listen and get familiar with their voices. She would recognize Frank's voice over a thousand others, his timid way of speaking made her smile.

The subjects they handled weren't much different from the ones farmers would have. They concerned the weather, the coming winter. And she was once again reminded these men had no homes, no shelter to go to, meaning they had to be smart about which route they were going to take. South meant less chance of deadly blizzards, but they would go through Indian territory and snow never seemed to slow them down. North meant more settlements to rob and thus less chance of getting cut off from supplies, but the biting winds had killed men tougher than they. West meant mountains no one felt like climbing and East wasn't even up for discussion cause it meant returning to all sorts of crime scenes they were trying to get away from.

The warmth surrounding her was just too comfortable to give up. She stretched like a lazy cat and nuzzled into the warm object. She listened to the sound of clicking spurs coming her way. They halted not far from her cot.

"We gotta get movin', Butch."

She recognized the gruff voice, but she didn't know the man's name. She could have sworn she had heard that very same voice the day the gang brought Cavendish to the ranch.

"Ah yea? Ah don't even have to open my eyes to know there's still crap laying allover the place. Don't wake me until ye packed everything."

Butch's gritty voice was carried through the object she was laying close to like an echo through a well. And to her own horror she realized it was his back she was currently huddled up to. She waited until the sound of the spurs were at a sufficient distance before backing away slowly. Feeling her close presence leave, he rolled onto his back and stretched. His spine gave a concert of cracks that sounded rather painful. He had remained at her side, like he said. It wasn't his fault she had been drawn to him in her sleep. It was cold, and he was warm.

"Ah miss yer bed.." He complained, rubbing his eyes tiredly and letting out a loud yawn, much like the old dog her mother had always accused him of being.

She sat up slowly and rubbed her arms nervously, not really knowing what to say to make the situation less awkward. But she seemed to be the only one to be uncomfortable, for he was simply waking up after a long nap and seemed undisturbed.

"How's yer head?" He asked, as he gazed up at the tree tops. The sun was setting. A few stars were already visible due to the cold air. The atmosphere high up loaded with ice crystals, making the sky almost as clear as day. The moon would light their path.

"Better, thank you." Came her timid reply. She looked around the campsite. The men still busy packing and saddling their horses. "Are we going to travel through the night?"

"Safest way to travel if ye don't want to be followed. Why? You're scared of the dark?" he chuckled.

"No!" she answered immediately, annoyed he would think such a thing. Though he wasn't far from the truth. She wasn't so much scared of the dark itself, but more for the creatures that came alive at night. She watched him sit up slowly and look at her, up and down, observing her closely. His steel eyes made her uncomfortable. "You think the Rangers will be able to find us?" she asked.

"Oh yea, they're out there looking for ye. And I don't think ye want to be found. Ye think ye can ride?" he asked, scratching the back of his head tiredly.

"I don't have a horse.." she said carefully.

She hadn't ridden a horse in years. Father's horse had died not long after the man himself. It had been a miracle he had left for the war riding that old plough horse, and came back on it as well. But since it died of old age, no new horse had taken its place. There was no money for it.

Butch ceased his calculating stare and pointed at the horses tied to a rope hanging between two trees. "The grey mare next to that big black one.. that's yer horse."

She followed his gaze to the horse appointed to her. The small mare standing out among the group of bigger horses, especially the black one standing next to her, nuzzling her manes affectionately. The animals clearly knew eachother. She wanted to ask Butch where he had obtained this horse, and who her last owner had been, but the outlaw didn't wait for any further questions. He got to his feet stiffly, grunting as he did so, and dusted off his pants.

"Time to get up, miss Shark." He told her and bend down to pick up his gun belt, adjusting it tightly before extending his hand to her. "Come on.. on yer feet now."

After a moment of hesitation, she accepted his help and he pulled her to her feet rather forcefully. She swayed, a little dizzy still, and reached for him to steady herself. He took hold of her arms until she had regained her balance.

"Easy does it.." he instructed her.

He let her go, his hands hovering above her arms, ready to grab her should she take another tumble to the frozen ground. Like she was trying to walk on a tightrope, she tried to balance her weight on her still unwilling legs. When her mind finally seemed to remember how to stand, she relaxed and gave him a small smile in gratitude and reassurance. He didn't return the gesture. His gaze was fixed on her torn dress.

"It's goin' te get cold." He said calmly, fumbling with the fabric of her sleeve. "And this thing aint gonna keep ye warm."

"I'll be fine.." she said, pulling away from his grip and feeling herself shrink under his stare. The last thing she wanted was these outlaws to think she couldn't keep up, that she would get cold, and slow them down. He should know by now, she wasn't one to complain.

Butch gave out a dry chuckle, mildly impressed by her stubbornness. "Yea, I think you will be too."

She looked away from his almost unearthly blue eyes, remembering them from the dreams she'd had in the past few days. They would haunt her for a long time to come, no matter what would happen to her and her family.

"I need to find my mother.." She started. "I cannot just abandon her."

"No one is abandoning anyone." He confirmed, gazing at the surrounding forest. The trees like barriers around them. They felt like prison bars to those who were used to roam the desert. "But there is one thing you should know about me, miss shark." His voice darkened as he took a step closer to her, feeling her body stiffen in a fear she tried to suppress. "I'm not going to play yer hired gun. If you're going to ride with me, ye do as I say, or I will tie you to a sunfaced rock in the middle of the plains and let the vultures figure out what to do with you. Am I being understood here?"

She could have sworn her heart stopped beating when he leaned in close to her ear to whisper his threats. And she only resumed breathing when he pulled back to gaze at her with that old familiar coldness she had gotten so used to. "I never said I need your help." She said defiantly, her voice as hushed as his had been. "Fact is though.. You would have been dead if it wasn't for her."

He narrowed his eyes. "And you? Where would you be now if it wasn't for me? Hm? Face down in your own blood, with your dress over your head and the whole railroad agency getting a piece of you. If we're going to talk about who saved who's life.. ah know a fact or two myself. So don't give me any of that, or ye will regret it." He hissed, and turned away from her. She followed him in his long strides as he walked over to the horses, having difficulty keeping up with him.

"And what guarantees me I don't face the same kind of fate among your men?" She spoke to his back as he halted in front of the grey horse. He gave no reply, and rummaged through the mare's faded saddle bags, taking out a tattered gun belt with an evenly jaded looking revolver.

"This will." He said, wrapping the belt around her slim waist and pulling her closer forcefully. With a gasp, she stopped herself from collapsing against him by putting her hands against his chest as he pulled her in. He chuckled at her shocked reaction, but continued buckling the belt. "Aint nuthin quite as heartbreaking as a woman with a gun." He told her, giving her a sly grin. She pursed her lips in agitation. "Besides.." He continued, and frowned as he noticed the belt was too big for her. "There's nuthin more embarrassing than getting shot by yer own piece." He reached down to grab his knife, and punctured another hole in the belt. She stood as rigid as she possibly could while his hands were down by her stomach, her chest going up and down in a rapid tempo.

"Who's getting shot by his own piece?" she asked in a husky voice, her eyes widened in fear. He stopped what he was doing for a moment, and looked up at her.

"Ye told me ye could shoot." He said. She stared at him, her mouth agape. Was he asking her to shoot someone?

"Rabbits!" She said, exasperated. "I shoot rabbits!"

He tilted his head at her and took a step back to admire his work, the gun belt around her waist still loose, but atleast it wouldn't fall down anymore. "ye will shoot Evans when ye see him." He said calmly. "Ye got his gun."

She looked down at the weapon hanging at her side, her hand hovering above it like she expected it be glowing hot to the touch. "I.. I'm not going to shoot anyone! With any gun! Besides I.. I thought you killed him."

Taking a step closer to her, Butch reached out to take her gun out of its holster, opening the chamber while gazing into her eyes calmly. "He's not mine to kill." He said, taking out a few bullets from his own belt, loading her piece for her. "The injuns believe if ye kill an enemy with the weapon he used to harm ye.. ye absorb their strength." He shoved the revolver back into the holster at her side. "Pretend he's a very slow rabbit.." He said with a wicked grin.

She couldn't believe he expected her to end Evans' life just like that. No matter what the man had done to her, or had tried to do, pulling out a weapon and sending him to the next world was something she didn't look forward to.

"Frank! Help her get er horse ready. Skinny! Get her some coffee!" The gang leader instructed and left her side to bark his orders at his men and discuss the route with what seemed to be the oldest member of the group. The rest of the gang, although all busy packing, cleaning and loading their weapons, observed her quietly, and she eventually noticed their curious gazes. There they were again. The pack of dogs Butch had warned her about. Yet when she was left to defend herself from a man like Evans with the Rangers nowhere to be found, one of these dogs had saved her, and the rest had guarded her while she recovered from her injuries.

Frank came up to her while dusting off his pants, and obviously noticed her uneasiness under the stares of the criminals surrounding her, even though they all did their best to look busy. It seemed they had been instructed to keep the rudeness to a minimum, which left them with pretty much nothing to say.

"Is yer head still sore and all?" The young man asked, a little out of breath.

"Eh.." she tried to focus on his question instead of the menacing glares she was receiving right now. One man spat into the dry sand when he passed by, causing her to make a slightly disgusted face. "Not so much as before, I suppose." Most of the horses had already been saddled and were now waiting patiently for the moment of departure.

"Oh, that's real good. Ah knew when Butch showed up with that plant he'd help ye. He knows stuff like that." Frank said. He picked up the grey mare's saddle from the frozen ground. She had wanted to ask Frank if perhaps he knew where Butch had gained his knowledge of Indian medicine, but the young outlaw chattered on happily. "What ye gonna name her?" he asked, placing the saddle on the horse's back, causing the mare to shift her weight.

Snapped out of her thoughts, Eleanor looked at the horse. "I.. have no idea.. she doesn't have a name?"

Frank shook his head as he adjusted the girth tightly. "Ah don't think Evans named her. He wasn't nice te er at all." He spoke sadly, patting the horse's neck affectionately.

"I don't know what to name her.." she said softly. The images of her burning house returning in full force. Her grandfather's lifeless body, swaying back and forth in his old rocking chair. Her mother being carried away by the rangers, her screams that had pierced right through her daughter's heart. She wrapped her arms around herself and watched in silence as Frank continued putting on the mare's bridle. Something nudged her arm softly, and she turned to see the big black stallion nibbling on her sleeve curiously.

"That's Toussaint.." Frank chuckled. "Barret's horse."

The kind animal made her smile despite her sadness and she reached out to gently pat the stallion's muzzle. "Hello, Toussaint.."

"He's pretty, aint he? He knows it too. He's just tryin' te impress ye." Frank chuckled. "Alright, ah think she's all set." He handed her the mare's chipped and worn reins proudly.

A little hesitant, Eleanor accepted the now saddled horse. Her first possession that she hadn't come by the honest way. A stolen horse. No matter who the owner had been, or how he had treated the animal, stealing a horse usually meant you'd hang. Unless you faced a particularly forgiving sheriff, and those were hard to come by. But to the calm grey mare, it didn't seem to matter, and she almost seemed happy to be appointed to a new owner.

It took Frank's steady hand on the horse's headpiece to keep the mare from shifting around in agitation when Eleanor climbed into the saddle with a clumsiness that would have bothered the calmest of horses. But she knew she was surrounded by not only criminals, but also men that lived in the saddle and knew all about these animals. Anything she needed to learn about riding them, would be taught to her by tough but competent tutors.

The horse snorted in confusion at Eleanor's lightweight commands, and scratched the dirt with her front leg. "She don't feel you.." Frank laughed. "She thinks there's a fly on her back instead of a girl."

Eleanor laughed nervously, feeling awkward. "My father's horse wasn't this spirited.."

"You two just need to get used to eachother, that's all. Bobby threw me off twice a day when ah first got him. But that has all changed now.. he only does it about once a week er something." Frank explained cheerfully, causing Eleanor to become even more nervous. And with the unpleasant prospect of getting thrown off a couple of times before the mare would agree with her new rider, she tried to make herself comfortable in the worn out saddle.

At that moment, Skinny came over holding a steaming tin cup. "Yer coffee, miss." He said, holding it out to her.

"Thank you." She said, accepting the cup. The bearded young man, wearing a Bowler hat that had seen better days, beamed at her proudly. Then his expression suddenly changed, as if he forgot to tell her something "Oh, mind ye now, it's pretty.."

"Strong.." she finished his sentence with a smile. "Yes, I know. I'm familiar with it."

Sipping from her cup gratefully, she watched the rest of the gang climb into the saddle at Butch's command. They would be riding hard and fast to get some distance between them and the Rangers who had undoubtedly started their search for her and the criminals by now. The gang leader was the last one to mount his horse and trotted over to ride at her side. He chuckled at the sight before him. The nervous young woman, on the nervous old mare.

"well, ah'll be damned.. it's little miss shark atop her little paluxy." He laughed, making the rest of the gang snicker in amusement. Gazing at him in annoyance, Eleanor refrained from saying anything that might provoke further ridicule. She wouldn't give the outlaw any excuse to continue his taunting. Frank decided to step in and come to her defence.

"Evans' horse aint used te other people ridin' er, Butch. She aint goin' nowhere this way." He said and shut up the moment his leader gave him a sharp look.

"Is that so, now?" Butch spoke mockingly, leaning on the knob of his saddle as he gave her a wicked smile. "Ah was sure we only had room for one headstrong woman, but I suppose we're gonna have te make do with two of them." He laughed, the gang followed. "What kind of a rancher's daughter don't know how te ride?" He asked.

"Can't shoot.. can't ride.." Barret filled in.

"I do know how to ride!" she defended herself. "But the horse we had was very docile.. A plough horse."

Jesus, the large Mexican man with fingers decorated with an impressive set of rings, muttered something in Spanish and caused the oldest members of the group to burst out laughing. Only Skinny and Frank didn't seem to understand it, judging by the confused looks they gave eachother. She had no idea what he had said, but it appeared to be very amusing at her expense.

As rude as Butch's jokes could be, he wouldn't leave her struggling to get her horse into motion. It would only slow them down. Still chuckling at her offended expression, he reached over to take one of the reins and wound it around the knob of his saddle. "Ye hold on tight now.." He told her, and gave her a quick wink before urging his horse forwards into a fast gallop.

She had no idea where they were going, and she wasn't sure any of the gang members knew their destination either. They were following a man who seemed to know every tree, rock and shrub. He knew exactly where to go and how to get there, and he would share the information whenever he wanted to. They moved across the ever changing landscape in a whirlwind of fog coming from the horses and their masters. And although he never peered over his shoulder to see how she was doing, there was a strange sort of safety about being tugged along by Butch. The safest place to be, was in the middle of the lion's den afterall.

The moon was so bright she casted shadows, and Eleanor gazed up into the clear nightsky trying to figure out where they were heading. Using the stars as a compass, like Grandpa had taught her when she was a little girl. But the jostling of the horse beneath her prevented her from getting a good look at the stars' positions.

The group slowed down when they headed for a ridge. Convinced it would be too steep for the horses to climb down, she thought they would take a different route. But Butch seemed to know a narrow trail suitable for the animals. In a long row, they guided their horses down to the river, running calmly through the narrow canyon. A treacherous route to follow, if it would rain, the river would rise in rapid speed. Taking everything with her in her path. It was a path no Ranger got paid enough for to take, and that was probably the idea. In a slow walking pace, they followed the river until the sky had turned from a dark blue, to every shade of pink and orange you could think of.

Splotching through the water in a meek trot, Ray came to ride beside Butch. "Ye aint gonna convince me Reid don't know this trail." He grumbled, his eyes scanning the canyon's ridges, as if he expected the Rangers to peer down at them from any side.

"He knows it, he also knows better than to take it." Butch answered, never taking his gaze off the water road before him. "Besides he aint crossing no borders."

Eleanor looked up in alarm. "Borders? But what.. what about my mother?"

"She gonna hang for shooting a railroad man, missy!" Ray shot at her. In the blink of an eye, Butch had steered his horse in front of Ray's, causing the latter's mount to rear in agitation.

"Ye use that tongue of yers to talk to her again, I aint givin' it back.. understood?" The gang leader threatened. "Understood?!" His hollering voice echoed through the canyon.

"Fine!" Ray barked. "Ye might want to inform the rest of us if ye intend on playing gunslinger hero to this here rancher girl, Cavendish! See if they're so willing te follow ye through a damn canyon then!"

"Ah'll be willing!" Frank yelled from the back, causing Eleanor to smile despite the current situation.

Barret rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Frank, I swear to God, if you yell in my ear one more time.."

"Water don't keep tracks." Butch explained to the still unconvinced older member. "Ye think those Rangers are only interested in her?! There's a 1000 dollars on yer head that'll turn any Ranger into a bloodhound! Ye want to stay up on the ridge and get caught, Ray?!"

Nobody seemed to notice the rain drops that had started to come down from the sky, creating patterns in the calm river. The sky had turned a threatening shade of grey, the dark clouds covered the two edges of the canyon like a thick blanket. At last the sound of running water in the far distance became louder than the men's voices, rendering them quiet. The horses whinnied restlessly.

"Let's go!" Butch commanded, giving a sharp tug on Eleanor's horse's reins. The animals couldn't move any faster because of the rising water, and the men had great trouble to keep them from stopping altogether. Within minutes, the water rose to her heels.

"How well do ye swim, Miss Shark?!" Butch yelled at her over his shoulder with a grin, his hair in long wet strands around his face. The rain, now pouring out of the sky like there would be no tomorrow, had turned down the sides of his hat. Making them look like droopy dog ears.

She reached up to smooth her own soaked through hair out of her face, and clutched the collar of her dress to keep the droplets from running down her neck. "I don't know!" she called back.

"Don't worry, miss Hartley!" Frank's voice sounded like he was already under water. "Horses can swim!" As if that knowledge made everything alright, Eleanor found herself clinging to the mare's manes in panic. She looked up at the dark sky, raindrops hitting her eyes, causing her to squint as her eyes filled up. The rain numbed every other sound around them, only the fearful noises of the horses could be heard through the storm. She could have sworn she heard the yapping of coyotes, first left, then right, all around her. She saw them running alongside the cliff's edges, their eyes a bright yellow against the thick grey curtain of water. It felt like every God and Spirit out there was displeased with her choices, and she found herself praying to whoever was willing to listen. The horses lost their footing by the rising tide, and the helpless animals and their riders were dragged away by the strong current.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16. Enjoy!

The sun had barely begun to rise when Reid and his Rangers arrived at the abandoned camp site of the outlaws they were looking for. The dogs they had brought along had lead them straight to the open space in the middle of the thick forest. Dismounting his horse, Dan scanned around the area, finding traces of blood in the upturned ground.

"What ye make of that, Hollis?" Dan asked his fellow Ranger. The latter sunk to his knees to touch the dried up blood, rubbing it between two fingers.

"Could be a day old, maybe two. Don't have to be hers, Dan." Hollis said.

"It's hers.." Dan decided, sighing heavily as he squinted against the bright light of the newborn sun. "They took her with them. So she aint dead yet." The thick forestry area made it impossible for him to see further than a couple of feet. And he knew that had been Cavendish' thinking as well. A man like him would want to be able to scan the perimeter at all times. They were both men raised in the desert, and were used to be able to see where they were going, they had that much in common. He looked up at the sound of horse hooves, and frowned when Elton and his agents approached the Rangers slowly.

"Goodmorning, mr. Reid.." Elton said cheerfully, tipping his bowler hat at the confused Ranger. "Little bit of a chilly morning, isn't it?"

"What the hell are you doing here, Henry?" Dan said, unamused. The agent ignored him as he dismounted his horse like he had all the time in the world. His men followed his example, and Dan couldn't help but notice in disdain that Evans was with them as well. Seemingly recovered enough to get back into the saddle.

"Mr. Cole thinks you're incompetent.." Elton spoke matter of factly, tying his horse to a tree. "He thought it would be best for me and my men to accompany you on your.. little quest to find our little prairie poppy."

Feeling slighted in his abilities, Dan walked up to fine suited Elton, forcing the latter's back into his own mount. "Ye got some nerve to follow me around with that excuse, Henry. We both know ye don't give a damn about that girl getting home." The Ranger hissed.

It only took a moment for the agent to lose his fearful expression at the Ranger's sudden close proximity. "Very perceptive of you, Reid." He sneered. "Unfortunately for her, that insightful talent of yours didn't present itself when little miss Hartley was still among us. After all, it was you who swore by high and low that Cavendish wasn't anywhere near that farm, wasn't it?"

Grabbing the agent by his collar, Dan growled in anger. He would have punched the little man stupid had it not been for Hollis placing his hand on his shoulder. "Easy, Dan. The blowhard aint worth it. Not with Cavendish out there doing God knows what to that girl. Remember why we're here."

Dan let go reluctantly, and the agent shuddered slightly from the experience. "Don't get in my way." The Ranger warned softly. Elton gazed at him haughtily, straightening his collar in an attempt to regain his composure.

"We don't have to thread upon eachother's feet, mr. Reid." He said calmly. "You should be glad Mr. Cole was considerate enough to give you more men to work with."

Chuckling joylessly, Dan shot a quick glance at the other agents. "Men?" He huffed. "Three overpaid mercenaries and a eunuch don't even make for one whole man." Evans shifted in his saddle angrily, but a warning glare from Elton told him not to act upon the Ranger's insults.

"Very witty, Reid. Very catchy. But this isn't your own personal vendetta no more. we're riding with you." The agent said. "Besides, we can both get what we want this way. You get that girl, I get Cavendish, his gang and all the money on their heads."

Dan ignored him as he mounted his horse, giving the order to the other Rangers to follow his example. "Is that what you promised your boys?" He asked, looking at the group of mean looking mercenaries. Their fine suits didn't do much to hide their vicious expressions. "You promised them the reward money of the Cavendish gang?"

"And what of it?" Elton spoke arrogantly. "It's about time somebody does something about that pesky little pack of dogs."

Dan could only chuckle and shake his head. "Cavendish worked with dogs years ago, Henry. The men following him around now are anything but stupid. I hope you know what you're doing. Cause let me tell you one thing, I aint going to save your hide." Elton just tilted his head with a bored expression. Not in the least impressed by the Ranger's warning. "Anyway, I'm heading West. I suspect Cavendish will keep close to them mountains for shelter. You can follow or we can split up" Dan continued, he didn't wait for the agent's reply as he ushered his horse forward, his Rangers in close pursuit.

Pursing his lips in agitation, Elton climbed into the saddle and started prepping his gun calmly, taking bullet after bullet out of his ammunition belt, in no hurry whatsoever. After a moment of silence, he motioned for Evans to come closer.

"Which way is Cavendish going?" He asked. The bearded, gruff looking man spat on the ground beside his horse, causing Elton to look slightly disgusted.

"Aint nuthin' fer him out west." Evans grumbled. "He's gonna go south."

Elton nodded, shoving his now loaded pistol back into its fancy new holster. "And cross the border to sell that pretty little sheep to the nearest brothel, no doubt. The less Rangers the better, I suppose. This is where you'll prove your use to me, Evans. I know there's a trail down the canyon that leads straight into Mexico. You will lead us there."

Evans hesitated, his horse shifting her weight restlessly. "Aint safe te take a longrider's trail"

Elton rounded on him quickly. "Are you here for a safe little road trip or are you here to make sure I don't throw your filthy person back into the prison you belong in?! You know the way… you get us Cavendish and his gang, and I'll make sure you can continue your revolting lifestyle in peace."

Evans said nothing, and could only stare at the short, fine suited man in absolute hate. "Yes, sir, mr. Elton, sir."

 **llllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll**

As quick as the water had risen, it sunk again as the narrow canyon's path widened. Eleanor was sure she had been under water for more than once, clinging to her panicking horse for dear life. And that had probably been the secret to surviving a thing like this. Horses could swim, and they would swim for their lives in an act of unbridled self-preservation.

As the water sunk to the animals' knees, the men regained their bearings slowly, now resembling more of a pile of drowned rats than outlaws. She coughed and sputtered, water gushing out of her holster and shoes. Her tired mare's reins no longer wrapped around Butch's saddle, she looked around to see where the leader of this group of wet dogs had gone to, and spotted him a little up front. Butch had dismounted his horse, and lead the animal by her headpiece to higher ground.

Shivering violently, she looked down at her hands, wrapped tightly around the knob of her saddle, red from the freezing cold water.

"You okay?"

She looked up to find Frank standing beside her, his young stallion's head hidden behind a curtain of soaked through manes, much like his rider, who's hair was plastered to his forehead. She couldn't help but giggle softly, and that seemed to lighten Frank's worry immediately. "I'm alright.." she assured him. He smiled at her words and reached out to take her horse's reins.

"Let's go and get you dried up.." He announced, tugging her horse with him. They had only just recovered from the whole ordeal, when Jesus galloped his horse right past them, causing another wave of water to cover them both. He jumped off his mount the moment it climbed the soil, and fell to his knees with a heavy thud, kissing the ground and muttering his prayers in Spanish, his arms raised up to the heavens.

"Darn it, Jesus!" Frank barked, taking off his hat to wring it out again. "We knows yer happy to be in Mexico, ye don't have to be like that about it!"

She looked around, up at the ridges, and the land she left behind. They were in a foreign country now. But the rainclouds were over her homeland, and the skies were a pale pink across the river. Following their example, she dismounted stiffly, rubbing her arms to get warm. She was sure this part of the border was a trail no Ranger was dumb enough to take. A trail meant for outlaws looking for a quick escape. Butch had brought her into safety the only way he knew how, to go where no lawman dared show his face.

A fire was built on the soggy banks of the Rio Grande, and boots and coats were hung to dry on improvised racks close to the fire. She did her best to hide her embarrassment of being among half-dressed men. Some had even taken off their shirts. But this was her life right now, and it was all she had left, she had to get used to it one way or the other. Keeping to herself, she decided to give it a try to remove her horse's saddle without any help. It was only one strap, how hard could it be?

"What ye wearing underneath that dress?"

Came the question when she had just pulled the heavy leather saddle off her horse's back. She turned to face the speaker, and found Barret gazing at her coldly in nothing but his trousers, an impressive pattern of scars decorating his sunburned skin. He folded his arms over his chest as he watched her struggle with the heavy saddle, indicating he wasn't going to help her.

"Excuse me?" she asked, a little fearful. The weight of the saddle started to hurt her shoulders, but she wasn't going to turn her back to Barret and place it on the ground. Not while he was asking about what her underclothes looked like.

"Your dress, you dunce." He repeated himself, agitated. "You're going to catch your death wearing that wet thing. So my question is.. what are you wearing underneath it?" she could only stare at him in disbelief.

"well I.." she started. "I'm not taking it off, if that's what you mean." He took a step closer, and she took a step back, so he stopped and held up his hands. "Hey now.." he started. "I aint going to rip it off you, alright? Put that saddle down and get yourself closer to the fire atleast. Cause if you think I'm going to play nurse for you if you get a lung infection because of this, you got another thing coming. I'm warning you now.. I've seen men die of that river's temperature and it aint a pretty sight."

No longer capable of holding its weight, Eleanor lowered the saddle to the ground slowly. Her spine protesting against every movement. Now her arms were free again, she wrapped them around herself protectively, averting her eyes from the outlaw staring her down.

"Unless you want me to ask Butch to come over here and explain the problem to him.." Barret threatened lightly, raising his eyebrows in question at the nervous young woman. "And mind you he won't have a single problem with ripping that thing off you if that means saving your life."

The thought alone made her blood freeze in fear. "Oh no, please don't tell him, mister Barret." She begged him. He tilted his head, a sly grin on his face, he had found his loophole and he was going to use it too.

"What you got under that dress?" He asked again. She stared at him with wide eyes, her mouth agape, ready to fire something back. "You gotta stop looking at me like a deer into the barrel of a shotgun, I don't bite nearly as hard as your hero over there." He taunted, obviously amused by her fuming reaction. She straightened her back, offended by his remark, and reached up to start unbuttoning the first few buttons of her soaked through dress. Had he been polite, he would have turned away his gaze by now, as true gentlemen never stared at a woman in a state of undress. But he kept his eyes locked on her shivering figure, until she arrived at the buttons close to her stomach, that was when he finally turned away, walking back to his place at the campfire.

Her old chemise wasn't anything worth writing home about, not to mention its faded white colour carried the stains of her travels even more clearly than the soaked through dark blue dress she wore over it. The cold wind coming from the river gave her goose bumps on her bare arms, and she heard the men around the campfire laugh in the distance. It was going to be quite the challenge to walk up to them, and sit among them in nothing but her underclothing. Holding her wet dress tightly against her chest, her worn shoes on top of the folded package of soaked clothing, she trudged toward the warmth of the fire, taking a deep breath to prepare herself for the looks an catcalls she was undoubtedly going to receive.

Surrounded by their own clothing on self-made drying racks, the gang sat around a big fire in their trousers and shirt sleeves. An already half empty bottle of whiskey was passed on from man to man, and nothing seemed to betray that these outlaws had just survived the Rio Grande's unpredictable nature. She decided to squeeze in between Frank and Skinny, as quietly as she could. But of course, everybody stopped talking the moment she sat down, her bare feet covered in sand and dry leafs. She felt herself shrink under their silent stares.

"Well look who finally decided to join the party." Butch taunted, making the rest snicker. "Dressed to impress." He continued, giving her a wicked smile. She didn't look up to meet his gaze, and stared down at her shivering hands instead. He motioned for the bottle of whiskey and tossed it into her lap, causing her to yelp in surprise. "Drink. You'll feel warmer." The leader instructed.

She made a face as she picked up the bottle, remembering its bitter taste from before. But she was too weary for further ridicule and she knew she was going to receive just that should she refuse the drink. So she plopped the cork, and after a moment of hesitation, took a deep swig. The gang hollered in enthusiasm. She coughed on the strong taste, and, wiping her mouth, handed the bottle to Frank before the rest would start challenging her to empty the whole thing.

"I do not understand why men like the taste of this so much.." she mumbled, the heavy liquor forming a film on her tongue.

"We don't, Sharky." Butch had obviously heard her opinion about the whiskey. "We just like the effect." Another round of snickering went through the group, and she couldn't help but chuckle softly at his joke.

"Get used to the taste, Chiquita." Jesus told her with a big grin on his broad face. "It's the only drink you'll get for a while to come. My brother makes his own whiskey in the village I was born."

"It's a day's ride from here." Butch explained to the ones who hadn't been there before. "And a good place to lay low for a while." He continued, his gaze resting on the shivering young woman.

"Is your sister still unmarried, Jesus?" Barret started innocently, receiving a threatening look from the big man, who made a fist and held it up at the army surgeon.

"You come near my sister and I will make sure you don't walk out of my village, but crawl! Like the French dog you are!" He said. Barret just smiled wickedly at him, not impressed at all. "It aint my fault she pulls her dress over her head for anyone that offers three bucks." He sneered tauntingly. Jesus got up with surprising speed, ready to do God knows what to Barret.

"Enough!" Butch interfered, causing the big man to sit down again. "Ah don't want no trouble during the ride. Ye can blow a hole in eachother's head once we git there! Understood?!" It seemed to be enough for the two men, for they stopped their bickering immediately.

"Where are we going exactly?" Eleanor inquired softly, giving Butch an unsure look, but he avoided her seeking eyes. Catching up on his leader's uneasiness, Frank decided to do the explaining for him.

"We're going to Jesus' village. Aint so bad a place. There's food.. and sometimes baby goats." He told her with a smile. Baby goats. Somehow Eleanor suspected there was more to this mysterious Mexican village than baby goats.

"The most beautiful village of the world!" Jesus announced proudly, spreading his arms in a welcoming gesture. "With the most beautiful chiquita's, and the best whiskey south of the border!"

"A whore's town." Barret said bluntly, wringing out his shirt without looking at her. "Where all the scum of the earth gathers to lay low." She felt herself grow pale at the thought of such a place. A place from tales of travellers her mother would run into when she ran errands in Colby. Her father had told her about such towns as well, although he had never been to Mexico. She hugged herself quietly, reminding herself that she wouldn't last a day out here on her own.

"And.. how long will we stay there?" Her voice trembled when she voiced her soft question, not exactly sure if any of the criminals would take kindly to her curiosity. Looks were exchanged among the members of the gang, and they all ended resting on their leader, who seemed all but willing to give her a straight answer. "Mr. Cavendish?" she pushed carefully.

It just made him chuckle. "Mr. Cavendish.." He repeated mockingly, wiggling his eyebrows. His men snickered at their leader's taunting antics. "Has a nice ring to it, doesn't it, boys?"

"I'm asking you a question." She continued, feeling scorned.

"I heard ye." He suddenly got back to serious, snapping out of his little game. "We'll stay there for aslong as we need.. Miss Hartley.." He almost spat out her name, as he tipped his hat in a pretend politeness. After that, he got up from his spot and walked off without another word. She watched him go in silence, the man had a way of making her feel like she didn't know how to talk to him. had he been anyone else, she wouldn't have allowed him to cut himself loose from the conversation like this, and she would have followed him to whatever corner he was sulking in.

"We usually stay about three days.." Frank tried. "Depends on how much everyone drinks and all." She smiled at him gratitude. Atleast someone was always willing to talk to her, and answer her many questions, even though he didn't have all the answers either. In search for warmth, she leaned against his narrow shoulder, gazing at the river, the new light playing tricks on its waves.

"I don't think I've ever been this far from home." She mused softly.

"First few miles are the hardest." Frank said. "After that it all feels the same. Till ye finally don't remember yer way back. Wouldn't know where te start."

She nuzzled closer against his arm, feeling tears well up. This wasn't her. This wasn't what she had promised herself growing up on the ranch. Then again, she didn't think the war had been something her father had promised himself when he married her mother and started a family with her. But it had happened nonetheless.

"I'm glad you're with me, Frank." She spoke softly, hugging herself against the growing cold around her. "You make it feel like I'm not so far from home." She felt his arm wrap around her trembling shoulders carefully, hugging her close protectively, like the brother her mother had always wanted for her. But somehow the Lord saw it fit to make her only child. There were no words needed as they both watched the river reflect the colors of the sky, till she was nothing but a mirror in which they could see the clouds pass over, giving room for the sun to cast her warm rays of light.

R&R plz


	17. Chapter 17

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Chapter 17

It was an hour later when the outlaws started to redress themselves and began saddling their horses, readying themselves to leave. It had been a good hour of repose for men and animals, but they had a lot of ground to cover before nightfall, and their leader had started to feel restless. Eleanor found Butch in a quiet spot along the banks, gliding pebbles over the still water of the river, now as calm as if she never formed a threat to anyone who wandered through her stream.

"I think we're good to go.." she announced her presence shyly, wrapped in Frank's blanket. Another pebble was send over the surface of the water, creating perfect ripples.

"Ye know what the Injuns call this river?" Butch asked, not bothering to turn around and face her as he picked up another pebble. " They call it Tewa P'osoge. Big Water."

She watched him throw the pebble, only this one, broke the surface with a loud splash. "Ahh, nuts.." he cursed. "Ah can't do it when someone's watchin'" He turned to her with a clumsy smile and shrugged.

"How is it that you know so much about their culture?" Eleanor asked curiously. He didn't seem willing to answer her, and took to upturning the soggy dirt with the tip of his boots. "Their language.. their healing methods." She continued. "What they call places."

He looked up, and scanned the cliff's ridges with his keen eyes, taking his time before answering her. "These places had names before we got here." He explained. "It's funny how Injuns name everything, but at the same time say that nature is ever changing and ye can't step into the same river twice. What's the point in naming all that shit if it's just goin' te change on ye every day?"

She chuckled at his obvious frustration. "I think they name places for the same reason we do. To know where they are."

He tilted his head gazing at her, like he did sometimes, even when he thought she didn't see it. It gave her the feeling he could look straight through her, seeing something only he could detect with his unnatural eyes. "In the war.." he started, shifting his weight in uneasiness. "We had Injun scouts showing us the way. They called these places by their culture's names." He waited for a reaction, but the shivering young woman simply stared at him in silence. "That's how I know."

"Is that where you learned their language?" she asked quietly, encouraging him to share more of his history with her. But the question seemed to annoy him and he averted his gaze from her, curling his lip in a mean snarl.

"Ah knew their language long before that.." He forced himself to give her a straight answer, figuring she deserved that much. He had been the one to start this conversation after all. "Or atleast a few of them anyhow."

A slight breeze disturbed the still river, causing ripples on the surface. She tightened her grip on the itchy horse blanket around her, while the wind danced with her hair. "I know so little about them." She said. "I only know what my grandfather told me. He travelled with an Apache man when he was young. Said he could hear the spirits talk to him on the prairie wind."

"Yea.." Butch mumbled, no longer looking at her. Instead, he studied the banks of the now moving river. "Most men don't need no wind to hear voices in their heads." A small group of deer had gathered on the other end of the stream, quenching their thirst with the cool water. They rendered themselves safe enough to drink right across from the humans on the other side. "Ye roam around these parts long enough, ye'll eventually find yourself talking to them." Butch continued, picking up a much bigger rock than the pebbles he had glided over the surface earlier.

"Do they ever say something back?" Eleanor asked. He paused for a moment, toying with the stone in his calloused hands.

"Yea.. sometimes." He said. Like he was about to throw a baseball, he struck a pose and threw the stone as far as he could in the direction of the drinking deer. The loud splash send the animals scattering away in panic. He laughed as he watched the deer trip over eachother frantically.

"Oh come on.." she complained. "Now why would you do such a thing?"

He gave her an unamused look, but said nothing. Seconds later, a mountain lion appeared from behind a rock, looking perfectly disappointed. Only a few feet away from where the deer had been drinking. The animal sniffed the ground, admitting defeat, and decided to try its luck elsewhere. Butch turned around to face her with a cheeky grin. "They say things like.. hey, Butch.. there's a cougar behind that there rock.. " He wiggled his eyebrows at her playfully, and chuckled at her attempts to hold in her laugh.

"So in tune with nature you are." She mocked. "Saving innocent deer from vicious predators."

He took a swaying step into her direction. "This place where we're going.." he started. "It aint half as bad as those idiots make it sound like. We won't have te worry about any Rangers there."

"Somehow I can't help but worry about a place where Rangers don't dare to go." She spoke carefully, not wanting him to cut off the conversation prematurely again. He let out a big sigh, obviously at a loss for words.

"Look ere', little Shark.. there's worse than Rangers out there. Those fine suits that burned down yer mother's ranch? Ye think they aint on yer trail right now?"

She blinked, confused. "Well, why would they be interested in chasing me?"

"It aint you they want." He gazed at her sternly. "But if they do so happen te find you. They're the last to bring ye home. Ah don't know what they're gonna do te yer mother, or what they've already done. But ahm tellin' ye now.. they aint gonna spare ye if they find you."

She swallowed thickly at his words, feeling her stomach turn. "Are you saying I should prepare for the worst.. considering my mother?" her voice trembled, and she hated herself for letting her panic show. He sniffed, looking anywhere but her eyes.

"Ahm sayin' that town aint the worst of yer problems right now."

There was a short silence, his cryptic way of speaking sinking in. "And my mother.." she asked softly, dreading the answer. "She's.."

"Ah don't have all the answers, Sharky." He interrupted her gently, his voice just above a whisper. "And ahm a poor excuse for comfort, ah know.. " he quieted down, seeing her eyes fill up with tears, although she did her best to fight them back. Her breathing deep and rapid, struggling to keep herself calm. "Hey now.." His voice brought her back, and she looked up to meet his eyes. "That aint never gone saved anyone's life." He chided softly. "Frank's wailing is rubbin' off on ye."

She chuckled through her tears, and reached up to rub them away roughly.

"Ahh, see ah can still make ye laugh." His playful wink made her smile despite herself, despite the dark clouds hanging over her life right now. The uncertainty of its outcome. He was indeed able to make her laugh at moments where she wanted to do anything but laughing. But somehow his clumsy ways of cheering her up always managed to put a smile on her face. Her giggling distracted her enough for him to come closer to get a better look at the still healing wound on her forehead. A man had obvious problems if he found the need to hit a woman with the back of his gun with such force. "How's that comin' along anyway?" He mumbled, nodding at the stitched up cut. "Yer still seein' stars?"

She shook her head shyly, gazing down at her bare feet, her toes buried in the soft sand of the river's banks. "It doesn't really hurt anymore."

He took a step back, her own uneasiness contagious. "Good.. that's good." He nodded, his hands on his gun belt. "Might not even leave a scar."

She forced herself to smile at his kind optimism, but she knew he knew better than that. It would leave a scar for sure. Like Barret had told her. A reminder of Evans' cruelty, and the price she paid for trying to protect her home.

"How's your stomach?" she asked in turn, it had been a while since she had inquired about his illness. But instead of giving her a straight answer, he just chuckled at her.

"Time te move, Sharky."

She watched him walk back to camp, remaining in her spot for a few moments. But he didn't look over his shoulder to see if she was following, and she listened to him bark his orders at his men when he disappeared from her view.

The command to move out was given not much later. Sending the men into their saddles, and continue on a trail only the oldest members of the gang seemed to know.

Mexico didn't look much different from Texas. It was just as dry, flat and hot. Winter had not yet arrived, the sun was as merciless as she knew it, and the sand had the same pale yellow color. Yet the air smelled like Mexico's indigenous flora, different than the scent of the prairie back home. To save the horses from overheating, a big part of the trip was done at a walking pace, and she soon found herself regretting the action of putting her dress back on. Frank handed her his canteen every now and then, sharing his water with her happily.

As usual, Ray rode alongside Butch, both men knowing the way like the inside of their own pockets. They spoke on occasion, a few words or a question, but always in hushed tones to make sure the rest of the gang was left out on the matter of the subject.

"What are they talking about?" Eleanor asked Frank, her voice just above a whisper, causing the young outlaw to lean toward her in order to hear her properly, almost sliding off his smooth saddle. But he could only shrug in answer to her question. The conversation between the leader and his right hand man remained a mystery unsolved.

They had been riding for what seemed like hours when she noticed vultures had begun circling the small group of horses and men, expecting one of them to eventually succumb to the elements. She peered up at the eerie looking birds, casting shadows in the yellow sand with their broad wings. The horses neighed restlessly at the raspy hisses they produced, a sound she recognized from her dreams.

How men were able to navigate through the rippled haze on the horizon remained a mystery to her. Everything looked the same, and there were no markings alongside the road to help a traveller stay on the right trail. Apart from the occasional horse or cow carcasses, the bones a chalky white from the sun and being gnawed on by so many hungry animals.

When the sun was already starting her descent, they came by a lone, dead tree, standing out in the middle of the vast open space of the Mexican desert. A skeleton dressed in grotesque looking rags was swinging from one of the branches. A sheriff's star decorated its torn jacket, and a sign was hung around its thin neck. But the writings on the piece of board were in Spanish.

"Thus to lawmen.." Barret explained to her, no emotion in his voice. "That's what it says. Means we're close."

It wasn't revealed to her whether the skeleton in the tree had actually been a real lawman in his waking life, or whether he had been an outlaw just as much as anyone around here, and his body simply served as an example. No matter who he had been, he now was a nameless warning to anyone trespassing this land.

The ruins of an old fort of some sort erected itself at the horizon some time later. Its bleached white walls reflecting the dying sun light. She vaguely noticed the vultures that had been circling above them for the duration of the trip, retreating into the distance. For the first time during their travels, Butch peered over his shoulder.

"Flank her." He barked at the men riding closest to her. Barret moved his much bigger horse close to her own, and her mare nipped at the patient stallion's nose in agitation. Frank followed his example, only her horse didn't seem to be bothered as much with the invasion of her personal space by his mount, and continued bothering Barret's military steed instead.

"Ye don't look anyone in the eyes." Butch pointed a warning finger at her, his gaze dead serious. "Am ah clear?" She nodded frantically, her heart beating in her throat at a rapid pace.

They passed the jaded white arch into the courtyard of the old fort, and she suddenly understood the gangleader's instructions. The place was littered with low lives, sitting at long wooden tables decorated with empty bottles, bee's wax candles and plates of unidentifiable food. Up on the balconies of the top floor's apartments, women dressed in nothing but chemises leaned over the wooden railing, curiously peering down at the newcomers.

Yet among the drinking, hollering criminals, there were dogs and children running around. Women of both Mexican and Native heritage walked around with plates of food, serving the outlaws in a quiet manner. A village of outlaws, Eleanor had heard about them before. Places completely controlled and occupied by men and women that had all broken the law at some point in their lives. As a bounty hunter, one good make a good sum of money for their retirement right in the middle of this courtyard, but she doubted whether there was a bounty hunter brave, or rather stupid, enough to show his face in here.

"Cavendish!" A woman that had been sitting at the head of one of the long tables, got to her feet. Her long black hair reached till the small of her back, but it was tousled and dirty, as if this evening had gone on forever, and she hadn't seen a sunrise in quite a while. "You owe me money!" she continued with a thick Spanish accent, as she walked up to him.

Not planning on rushing anything for anyone, Butch dismounted his horse slowly, his body stiff from sitting in the saddle for so long. "Rosa.." He greeted her almost cordially.

"Don't you Rosa me!" Her thin face made her brown eyes even more expressive. She crossed her arms over her chest, staring the gang leader down with an audacity not many men had survived. "You dare show your face in here, just like that?! What is it with you, hm?! chicas cost money, Cavendish! No exceptions!"

Butch rolled his shoulders and peered at his men with a sly grin. "Ah come on now, Rosa.. For old times' sake, eh?"

The woman narrowed her hazel eyes and scoffed. "You waltz in here like you own the place. Mirar, I have girls to feed! You pay this time!" she held up a warning finger close to his face. "Or you'll be sorry!"

He took a threatening step in her direction, fed up with her attitude, and backed her against one of the wooden tables. "Ah see the hospitality of this place has gone a little downhill since mah last visit." He hissed at her.

"You have one of your men to thank for that!" she hissed back. "You think any man can just come in here, cut up one of my girls like that and not pay for it?!"

"Evans don't ride with me no more." He told her, no emotion in his voice. "Fact ah don't see him ridin' at all for a while to come." The woman was silent, regarding him with the same wary glare she always seemed to have on her dirtied, gaunt face. Her eyes left his for a moment to inspect the men behind him, still on their horses.

"What did you do to him?" she asked, obviously missing the one face in the group of outlaws that had followed him.

He shifted where he stood, getting uncomfortably close to her, but she didn't seem impressed, rather bored. "Gimme a bottle of whiskey and ah'll tell ye all about it.." He whispered close to her face. She clicked her tongue in annoyance, and pushed him away, causing him to chuckle.

"Keep your secrets, Cavendish.." she huffed. "Fine.. one night! Put your horses in the stables."

Relieved with the permission to stay, the men dismounted, and Eleanor quickly followed their example as quietly as she could. Somehow she felt like she didn't want to be seen by this Rosa. Thankfully the noise of the other men around the tables, and the mariachi band in a corner of the courtyard quickly resumed its deafening buzz, drowning out any other sound. The stables were quiet, and she placed her horse next to Frank's, in need to be close to the one person who was always kind to her. They saddled off their horses in a comfortable silence.

Petting her grey mare, she watched Frank fill the trays with water. The parched animals wasted no time to quench their thirst. Criminal ran town or not, they knew how to treat their animals. There was fresh straw on the ground, and the roof seemed safe from leaking. An elderly, Spanish looking man that mumbled to himself, paced through the dim litted corridors of the stables with a bucket of feed. A couple of mules in the next pen nipped at eachother's snouts playfully, giving out their funny sounds as the man filled their trays with food.

"Are ye hungry?" Frank asked. She looked up at him with a faint smile and nodded, hardly remembering the last time she had something to eat. "There's plenty of food here. And it aint half bad either. It's spicy though.. can give ye a tummy ache." He continued, rubbing his stomach absentmindedly.

"What is this place?" she asked, gazing at the young man. She was desperate for answers, and she knew he was the wrong person to request them from, but she didn't expect anyone else to even look at her when she asked a question. Frank looked unsure about giving a reply, and continued petting his horse to distract his mind from going into overdrive.

"Ah know it used to be a soldier fort.." He started, giving her a lopsided smile. "Now it's the only safe place we can go to. Ye know..after becoming an outlaw and all."

For a second, she considered asking about the woman named Rosa, but Barret joined them before she could voice her question.

"Are you two done here?" He asked.

"She's scared about goin' out there, Jack." Frank spoke in all of his innocent honesty, and she felt herself grow red in embarrassment. Half expecting the much tougher outlaw to just give her a sneer, she gazed at him defiantly, daring him to make a less than courteous remark. But he simply looked her up and down, only mildly interested in her state of mind.

"I'm not scared.." she spoke in her own defence.

"I don't care if you are or aren't. You're here now, find a way to cope with it." Barret said in his monotone voice. "Anyone gives you trouble.. that's what that gun is for. You make sure it's loaded, and you go out there and get yourself a plate of food." He regarded her coldly, showing no mercy. When she didn't stir, he moved to let her through, giving her a mock bow. "After you.."

She raised her chin in an attempt to look dignified when she passed him by, and thankfully, she heard Frank following her in close pursuit. The rest of the gang, including its leader, had made themselves comfortable at one of the long wooden tables. Food was already being served, and everyone was given a drink to work up their appetites.

There seemed to be a strict hierarchy within the walls of this old fort turned outlaw village. None of the present gangs interfered with eachother, and it seemed to be an important rule to live by. Among the scantily clad women, dangerous looking men paced the upper balconies, rifles at the ready should a fight break out below in the busy courtyard. Yet there seemed to be little rivalry between the outlaws. Butch was greeted by various gang leaders, and shared a word or two with an older man who had taken a seat beside him. The woman Rosa, who had been busying herself with getting the gang members seated and cared for, now took a seat on Butch's other side, mingling herself into the conversation. She leaned in close to the outlaw's ear.

"Who's the stray kitten?" She whispered. Butch leaned back in his chair, scanning the perimeter in search of the person at question. He found her seated at the other end of the table, flanked by Frank and Barret. The latter shoved a glass of whiskey in front of her, but she only regarded it with a disgusted expression.

"A matter ah still need te solve. Takin' longer than I had thought it would." The gang leader mumbled, chucking down the remains of his whiskey.

"Really?" Rosa said, leaning her chin on her hand, her elbow resting on the wooden surface of the crudely crafted table. He gave her an annoyed look and clicked his tongue.

"Yea, really."

She motioned for one of the Native looking women to come over with a bottle of hard liquor, refilling Butch's glass. "Where did you find her? Is she one of Red's?"

The outlaw scoffed and downed his glass in one haul, as if made nervous. "She aint none of that. She's ah.. ye know.. rancher's daughter." He held up his glass for another refill, but the Native woman just gave him a dirty look and walked away. "Yer waitress don't like me."

"White Feather." Rosa said. Leaning over the table, she reached for another half empty bottle and placed it in front of the complaining outlaw with a loud clunk. "Apache. You know how they are. But don't change the subject on me, Cavendish. Tell me more about your kitten."

From a distance, Eleanor observed the interaction between the gang leader and the woman. The words of their conversation drowned out by the deafening noise of hollering, drunk criminals and the band that kept on playing like there was something to celebrate.

Despite his earlier crude demeanour, Barret had gotten her a plate of food and something else to drink than the bitter tasting whiskey Jesus had raved about. Frank chatted happily about every odd thing he had ever seen in this already odd environment, but she could hardly get herself to listen to his stories. Skinny had joined them moments later, bringing his own plate with him, gravy dripping down his long beard. Only the older members remained close to Butch, all occupied with their own barely clothed olive skinned women. Catching her locked fixation on the gang leader and his current company, Barret followed her gaze.

"Rosa.." He started. "They go way back. I don't know every detail of it, and I don't care to. And if you're as smart as you look, you refrain from asking about it."

"Ah like her.." Frank said cheerfully, ripping the meat off a chicken bone. "She pinches my cheeks and calls me her little Loquito or somethin'..Ah don't know what that means but.. she always smiles when she says it."

"Don't that mean crazy?" Skinny asked, confused. "That word she calls you?" Frank just shrugged, he didn't know any Spanish.

"Yea, it does.. means little crazy one.." Barret chuckled menacingly. "Suits you perfectly." Skinny laughed, and Eleanor couldn't help herself either. Frank looked perfectly offended, like a little boy who had just been told Santa Claus doesn't exist. In good company, as good as it came in these parts, the place wasn't that bad.

A little boy of about seven years of age collected empty plates from the tables, sneaking between the drinking criminals with women on their laps. She had noticed him before, but to the rest, he went unseen, collecting plates until he had an impressive stack in his young arms. He brought them to one of the rooms on the ground floor, presumably the kitchen. He seemed to be the only child with a task. The others just played with the dogs, or teased the mules by poking them with twigs, until their mothers put a stop to it. When he came to their table to collect their empty dishes, she placed a hand on his arm, and smiled.

"What's your name?"

The boy looked up at her in surprise, his eyes a sky blue. But he said nothing in return, as he looked from Eleanor to the rest of the outlaws.

"Your name, boy." Barret threatened, but the child didn't seem impressed. Which wasn't surprising because of where he was growing up in.

"Emilio." He finally said, stretching over the table to grab Skinny's empty plate, causing the young outlaw to jump at the dish suddenly being pulled away. Stacking the plates in his arms, the boy left without another word.

"It's her son." Barret said, giving a small nod in the direction of Rosa, still talking to Butch. Eleanor shot a quick glance in their direction, but she somehow felt like looking away. She had noticed before how much closer to woman had gotten to Butch, and now she had thrown one leg over his lap. Yet he was still talking, with a clouded over expression in his eyes, and hardly seemed to notice her hand against his chest.

"Look."

Frank's voice got her attention, and she followed his gaze toward the open desert. The sky a pitch black, with a thin rim of dark blue on the horizon. Lightning could be seen in the vast distance, the storm had followed them all the way here. The bright bolts reached all the way to the dry ground, disappearing into the earth's parched soil.

"When that hits, all hell is going to break loose." Barret mumbled, getting up from his seat. "Come on, I'll find you a room to sleep in."

R&R


	18. Chapter 18

Holy balls.. so sorry for the slow updates, folks. Life has been a little rough lately. I promise the next update won't take this long. Enjoy!

Chapter 18

The longer you spend in the noise of the courtyard, the more it started drowning out every other sound around you, turning into an almost pleasant background buzz. Mixed with the bland flavoured wine Barret had managed to arrange for her, the sounds of the hollering criminals, firing their guns and pointlessly shattering their empty plates, turned into white noise in her head. Now the depth of night had arrived, the men had become so drunk, the cheerful mood had turned into something more gruesome. Fights had broken out, and women were grabbed and pulled onto laps roughly and against their will. The children had disappeared from the scene, and even the dogs had retreated into the stables or under carts.

It was at that point that Barret manoeuvred Eleanor out of the courtyard, with Frank on their heels. He brought her up, onto the balconies, and had found a quiet spot in one of the four corners of the fort. He had left the two young people there, in search of the room he promised her.

Sitting beside eachother on the high wall, Frank and Eleanor let their feet dangle over the edge, peering down at the few men who had left the courtyard, and, unsuccessful at finding a room, fondled their women against the walls, still warm from being in the sun all day. The quiet of the desert surrounding them stood in sharp contrast to the ruckus that continued in the courtyard below. Both the girl and the young outlaw jumped slightly at the sound of the first gun shot, and the screaming of a woman that followed.

"Is all fun and games until someone decides te kill someone." Frank told her, almost apologizing. Her shocked expression said it all, he needed no reply from the young woman to understand what went on in her mind.

"Ah wish ah could name the stars like Butch can.. " Frank continued, changing the subject. He gazed up at the pitch black sky, the stars like beacons in the dark. "But ah always forget their names.." Eleanor looked up, digging into her clouded memory for her grandfather's lessons. It felt like digging into a past life, in which she had died and had been reborn into the world of today, the world she was living in right now.

"See that bright star up there?" she started, pointing directly up. "That's the North star. Right above her, that's the Big Dipper. And below her.. That's Cassiopeia."

"Did Butch tell you all about it too?" Frank asked. "He's turning ye into a regular trail hand, aint he?"

She shook her head, still gazing up. "Nah, Frank. I could always name the stars. That was never my problem."

Barret returned some time later, and stiffly heaved himself onto the white bleached wall next to the two younger people, his legs significantly longer than theirs, his spurs clicking against the stone. "I got good news, and I got bad news. Which one would you like to hear first?" He announced, following her gaze up to the sky.

"Bad news comes first." Frank said. "That's what mah ma always said anyway."

"Bad news is; I couldn't get you a room for tonight. Because none of these damn whores are willing to rent out their rooms without them in it. So unless you're in for a girls night out party with a Spanish speakin' harlot, I can't offer you anything." Barret explained.

She chuckled involuntarily at his colourful descriptions, getting much used to the foulmouthed criminals surrounding her. "So what's the good news?" she asked.

"Good news is; once all these men had their way with them whores, the rooms will become available again. So all you need is a little patience, really."

She made a face, not sure she wanted to sleep in sheets that had been used for such a purpose. "That's your good news?" He shrugged, peering up at the stars again.

"Probably as good as it's going to get in this place." He mumbled. "I've been out here for years, yet this vista still amazes me every time. I didn't see many stars where I grew up. The air wasn't dry enough for them."

"Jack's from Virginia." Frank said, and immediately regretted his words as Barret grabbed him by his collar roughly, pushing him dangerously toward the edge.

"You got wings, Taylor?!" The older man hissed. Frank whimpered and shook his head frantically. "You remember that next time you reveal something about my life, cause next time you fly!" Frank nodded, and mumbled his apologies until he was released with a last violent shove.

Eleanor noticed about herself she wasn't as impressed by this show of violence as she used to be. The rough manner the criminals treated eachother with, was something she had gotten used to. Frank received a lot of tough love, but none of them would ever really harm him.

"My father's family was from Virginia." She said. "Or atleast, his grandparents were. I know my great great grandfather worked on a plantation, he took care of the horses of some rich family. My father told me once, his grandfather had told him that the worst thing about rich families were the sons." She giggled softly.

Barret didn't look at her, and it took him awhile to answer. "Yea, he was probably right." After an uncomfortable silence, the mood thickening, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a pocket watch, his French last name engraved into the golden plated time piece. "I'm one of those sons." He said, holding out the watch to her by its golden chain. She took it from him carefully, and studied the extravagant object in her hands. "Open it." He encouraged.

Never having touched a pocket watch, she didn't know how, and fumbled with it for a while until he clicked his tongue and took it from her, opening it himself, he gave it back. The faded, black and white portrait of a man stared back at her, unmistakably wearing a clerical collar.

"That's my father." Barret explained. "I grew up with the idea that my father had hundreds of children cause everyone called him exactly what I called him. Everyone called him father. All our slaves.. even my mother. Gets sort of confusing." She gazed at the photo. The man had Barret's unruly curly hair, and the same stern, cold eyes.

"You look like him." she remarked. He shook his head.

"I'm nothing like the bastard." He said. "That's why I left." She refrained from asking why he considered his father a bastard, thinking it more wise to simply let the outlaw do his story.

Frank fished the pocket watch from her hands and looked at the picture, turning the object around a couple of times until the photo made sense to his simple brain.

"Dammit, Frank!" Barret hollered, reaching out to grab the time piece from him, but Frank laughed and held it up where Barret couldn't reach. "If you drop that I swear to God, you'll be following right after it!"

"Say please!" Frank teased, laughing hysterically.

Chuckling, she removed herself from the war zone she had been sucked into, and climbed off the wall, leaving the two wrestling criminals behind. While they had been sitting there, the quiet had fallen over the courtyard below. Only the lazy tunes of a tired guitar player sitting on a barrel in a corner confirmed that not everyone had fallen asleep yet. The long wooden tables had mostly been abandoned, except for a few loudly snoring outlaws that had fallen asleep over their plates, their drinks still in their calloused hands. Empty bottles, and leftovers from the meals littered the dusty ground. The dogs had returned, scavenging for bones among the wasted food.

She leaned over the railing, and when she stretched her neck, she could see some of the men sleeping on the ground under the balconies, their backs against the walls of the fort, no longer hungry and satisfied from every other need a man could entertain. None of them were part of the gang she travelled with. And its leader was nowhere to be found.

The balconies, illuminated by rusty, ancient looking lanterns, were mostly deserted. The armed guards had disappeared, and apart from the occasional tired looking man leaving one of the rooms, there was no one to keep her from going around the fort. The wooden boards cracked underneath her old shoes, and she silently hoped no one would notice her presence. The silence was so deafening, she could hear the coyotes howl and yelp outside the walls. The horses, down in the stables, whinnied restlessly in response. She inhaled the cool night air; smelling like burned wood and sage.

Arriving at the second corner, she heard quiet voices, speaking softly to one another. The words were lost to her, but the conversation seemed to be light-hearted and between two people who knew eachother well. Careful about making her presence known, she peeked around the corner. Butch was leaning lazily against the mudstone wall of one of the rooms, studying the smoke from his cigarette, rising up into the black skies. Rosa sat on a crate next to him, seemingly wrapped in her own thoughts as well.

"You're killing her." Rosa started after a while, looking up at the criminal. "You know that right?"

He moved his eyes to meet hers slowly, a grin forming on his face. "Yer still livin"

She scoffed and shook her head in disbelief. "I didn't grow up on a ranch, Cavendish." She shot back, and got up from the crate. Her own cigarette almost done, she had been smoking it in a hurry, while he took his time. "I was raised by people like you."

"people like me.." He repeated, no longer looking at her. His words seemed slurred, like his tongue was too big for his mouth. It wasn't a question, he was simply processing her words through his intoxicated mind, pondering whether it had been an insult or not.

"Poisonous people." She turned to him, the same fire in her hazel eyes as before. "As poisonous as that snake that bit you." She nodded at the rattlesnake tail braided into his long hair. He blinked at her slowly, no apparent expression on his face. She turned away again, pacing around the crates while muttering her frustrations in Spanish.

"Sucker paid dearly for it." He mumbled.

She rounded on him quickly, holding a finger an inch from his face. "And so will you." She warned him, swallowing thickly, as if she was suddenly overcome with emotion. "Dios mio, Butch.. What have you done?" He raised his chin at her, regarding her coldly and gave no further reply. She huffed at him in disbelief, and threw her finished cigarette on the floor. "What is to become of this girl? Have you ever thought of that for one minute?"

He shrugged, turning his head into the direction of the desert, peering at the distant horizon of the endless landscape. "They're gonna hang her ma.." He started. "For killin' a railroad man."

Rosa sighed and shook her head. "And I suppose you told her she would be safe with you?" she huffed, the sarcasm dripping off her voice. He still stared off into the distance, and said nothing for a while. "What do you know about travelling with a woman hm?" she asked, chuckling bitterly. "A girl.."

"She's tough.." he mumbled, like it explained everything. "Been through quite something already."

"She's a young girl!" Rosa repeated more forcefully, as if the man had hardly heard her. "I may be a whore, but I know innocence when I see it. You're ruining her.."

Butch shifted where he stood, but still refused to look at her.

"We have nothing to offer to people like her." She whispered. "Only fear."

Eleanor couldn't see Butch's face, but she had a slight idea of what his expression was like at the moment. His contemplating stare was something she had seen before. It made his vibrant blue eyes pale and cloud over with worry and something unreadable she had not yet deciphered.

"Aint no use leavin' her here though." He mumbled. "Not with her ma out there. She'd just be following"

"You could take her to the nearest train station and put her on her way back to the East. Where all these chiquitas come from! These rancher's daughters." Rosa shot back. "Like these people know what to do with themselves once they're here." She huffed.

Feeling a sudden rush of anger come over her, Eleanor stepped into the dim light of the dying lantern that was standing on one of the crates, her face a sharp contrast of yellow brightness and dark shadow. Breathing heavily, her eyes went from the outlaw now gazing at her tiredly, to the rather surprised looking woman.

"I'm not a child!" she started, feeling her courage leave her the longer she faced the two people staring back at her. "And I'm not planning on getting on any train East!" Neither of them said anything, and it just made the despair inside her grow even stronger. "You can't make me!" she called out. "Like he said I..I would just be following."

Butch, mildly impressed by her sudden entrance, chuckled softly. "Headstrong little than', aint she? Determined too."

"And under the impression she's in a position to negotiate." Rosa spoke calmly, but her eyes told Eleanor something different. As dull as they had been earlier this evening, as fiery were they now, regarding the young rancher's daughter with a mixture of pity, frustration and even contempt.

"I'm not a captive." Eleanor argued, taking a step back as the woman approached her slowly, circling her like a cat would its prey. "I can leave whenever I want to."

"And go where?" Rosa said, making a hand movement toward the vast endless desert surrounding them. "Join the coyotes? Hm?" Eleanor was silent, admitting defeat. "Thought so.." Rosa said, shaking her head in disbelief. "You're a captive of your own decisions. And in that you're not so different from the men you're travelling with."

"Thanks, Rosa.." Butch grumbled. "Ye know exactly how to make everythin' sound terrible."

"It is terrible.." Rosa confirmed, gazing sadly at the young woman before her. "Don't you have family back east where you can go to? Away from this mess?"

"I am not leaving my mother behind to be hanged." Eleanor said defiantly. "For killing a man that tried to burn down our house, and killed my grandfather."

The Latina was silent for a moment, and let out a big sigh. She folded her slender arms across her chest. "And you think becoming an outlaw will save her? You think you're the only one who lost people? Lost their home? Look around you! You're surrounded by people like that.. do you truly want to become like them?"

Eleanor dropped her eyes to the wooden floorboards, and didn't look up when she felt Rosa's hands on her arms, squeezing them gently. "Life is unfair." she continued, taking off her colourful shawl to wrap it around Eleanor's trembling shoulders, sighing heavily. "I was just like you once.." she explained softly. "Don't make the mistakes I made." She almost begged. After a moment of silence the woman snapped out of her soft mood, letting go of the girl.

She turned to Butch, her hands on her hips. "Don't keep me waiting too long. You're not getting those coins back." She told him, and in a whirlwind of bright coloured shawls and skirts, Rosa passed her by and made her way down the balcony. An uncomfortable silence followed while they both listened to the dying sounds of Rosa's steps on the wooden boards. Clearing her throat nervously, Eleanor tightened her hold on the shawl around her shoulders.

"I..I'm sorry if I interrupted something. I just.. heard something about a train and I.." she started.

"Come 'ere, Sharky."

She hesitated for a moment, and then approached him carefully. Facing Butch after eavesdropping on his conversation with Rosa was harder than she had anticipated, and she was aware how heavy her legs felt when she took the few steps into his direction. He was still leaning against the wall calmly, and gave her a weak, lopsided smile when she came into his view. The thick smell of heavy liquor hung around him, mixed with the spicy scent of his cigarettes.

"Did ye push Frank off the wall?" he asked, causing her to smile instantly.

"Barret almost did." She confirmed. "Listen, I..I just arrived. I didn't hear anything you two were talking about..I mean.. before the train. " He took a last draw from his cigarette before sending it flying over the high wall with a flick of his finger. He stretched, his arms raised above his head, and let out an uncomfortable moan when his spinal cord snapped.

"Don't lie to me, Sharky." He spoke softly, rolling his shoulders counter clock wise in an attempt to loosen his muscles. "Ye don't want te do that."

She was silent for a moment. "I'm sorry if I interrupted something important." She whispered.

"Nuthin' but the muttering of a whore." Butch confirmed, but he didn't seem to completely agree with his own words. "Alright, Sharky.. ahm off.." he announced. She dropped her eyes to the floor, realizing where he was going. The thought embarrassing her. She rubbed her arm absentmindedly, not knowing what to say in response.

"Are you going to do as she said?" she asked quietly.

Halting in front of her, he let out a deep sigh while searching for the right words to say. "ah could probably get you a first class ticket too. Ah got my connections." He chuckled, but it died away when she didn't smile. Shifting where he stood, he rubbed the back of his head in uneasiness. "I aint gonna put ye on no train, alright?" she nodded, but couldn't bring herself to meet his gaze. "Look at me." He ordered. She looked up into his blue eyes, reflecting the light of the lanterns around them. "Things got too complicated for that. Blood's been spilled. Ye got a price on yer head. Putting ye on a train aint gonna solve none of this."

She was silent, blinking slowly.

He shifted again, as if nervous, and cleared his throat. For a moment it seemed he was just going to turn around and leave. "But since everyone seems to think I adopted a woman into mah gang!" He said loudly, looking around in agitation. She chuckled softly, not able to help herself, his antics always made her smile. "Ah guess we're just gonna have te find a way to get ye through this." He finished in a softer tone. "Ah got a few tricks up mah sleeve yet, Sharky. But yer gonna have te be patient."

She nodded, looking down at her feet again.

"Yer cold?" He asked. She hadn't even noticed the shiver that shook her body when a rush of cold air hit her. Before she could reply, he had taken off his coat and placed it around her trembling shoulders. The hem of the torn fabric almost reaching till her ankles. "Stay outta trouble." He whispered close to her ear, his rough voice giving her goosebumps of which she would deny their existence till the end of her days, and turned to leave. He left her there, in pursuit of Rosa, and she could hear the door of her quarters close and lock moments later. She huddled closer into the old coat, carrying the strong scent of its owner.

The lightning of the nearing storm drew her attention, and as if hypnotized by its view, she walked to the furthest corner of the fort, as close to the grey clouds as the walls could take her, and there she leaned on the warm stone, gazing at the bright bolts touching the dry earth. It was going to hit them sooner or later. The wind the storm blew forth, smelled like rain and wet dirt. The clouds came from the trail they had followed into Mexico, and she wondered if the storm had already hit Colby. The thought of her mother, alone in a cell, with weather like this, made her heart ache.

"Hold on, mother." She whispered to no one in particular. "I'll get you out of there."

From the corner of her eyes, she noticed the Apache woman White Feather standing by the same wall, gazing at the storm as well. She started her mysterious chanting moments later, as if she was beckoning the clouds to come closer. Eleanor could only guess what the words meant, and averted her attention back to the nearing storm, allowing the cold wind to play with her long hair. When White Feather had finished her ritual, she came up to the girl determinedly, speaking in her native tongue while tugging on Butch's torn coat.

Eleanor could only shake her head. "I'm sorry. I don't understand." She said softly.

White Feather blinked, and reached up to take off one of her necklaces, adorned with beads and the teeth of a certain animal. Carefully, she placed it around Eleanor's neck, her hand on the girl's heart for a moment. "Protection.." she said.

Eleanor looked down at her new decoration, touching the white fangs for a moment. "Thank you, but I already wear protection." She argued softly, reaching into her bodice to retrieve a small silver cross, the one Grandfather had given her, a long time ago. But White Feather shook her head, and tucked the cross back into the girl's shirt.

"The more Gods the better." She said.


	19. Chapter 19

Thanks for all the reviews, favs and follows! To my guest reviewers: I cannot answer you all personally, but know that I greatly appreciate you taking time to comment!

Chapter 19.

Like always before a storm, the world around her became deathly quiet. There were no more coyotes to listen to, no more horses that whinnied down in the stables, and no more lazy guitar to let her know she was inside four walls, and not out there in the vast open spaces of the unforgiving desert. Surrounded by people, she had never felt more alone as in that moment, staring at the ever nearing dark rim of clouds. The wind played with the beads around her neck, their polished skins reflecting the light of the bolts of lightning in the distance. White Feather had hid herself away again, and Eleanor wondered in silence why the Indian woman had decided to present her with a string of her sacred jewellery.

The gangleader's coat around her shoulders felt heavy and warm, as if it not only carried layer after layer of dust, dirt and filth, but also the moral weight of every wrongdoing the man had ever committed. Yet the thick scent of sweat, horses and blood made her feel safe. She had grown accustomed to this smell, and her mind had started to associate it with safety. She swallowed thickly when her fingers found a hole in the thick wool, unmistakably created by a bullet. The material of the coat told the same story of Butch's violent life, as the skin on his chest had told her before. How many shot wounds could a man survive in his lifetime? How many times could a grown man get beaten, stabbed or thrown around, before his body gave out? Her father had scars when he returned from the war. One in his left shoulder, and one in his leg. The latter had caused him to walk with a limp for the rest of his days. Butch didn't limp, but he swayed in his steps, like his brain had long forgotten how to walk in a straight line.

She yawned, feeling an exhaustion in the pit of her stomach she had never experienced before. But the idea of falling asleep while surrounded by outlaws didn't sound very appealing, and so she tried to stay awake for aslong as she could. The crate she sat one, allowed her to place her arms on the edge of the wall, and rest her head on them as she tried to motivate her brain to stay alert by trying to calculate where the storm was at this very moment. What had she seen on her trip to Mexico, that could match up with the location of the clouds. What was getting soaked through at this moment, that had been dry as bone when she passed earlier that day? Maybe the tree with the skeleton. Poor guy, whoever he had been.

The quiet of the night made her even more sleepy, and she felt herself slowly relax. Her back throbbed with a dull ache from riding all day, her hands red and raw from holding on to the jaded leather reins of her mare, and her legs felt stiff from clinging on to the jostling animal. She wasn't used to it, and she figured it would pass soon. Butch showed little mercy when it came to the exhaustion of his men, or hers for that matter, it was only a matter of time before her body got used to the lack of sleep, nourishment and protection from the elements.

A lone drop hit the tip of her nose, and she blinked in surprise. The rain had started, and would soon turn into the storm she had been waiting for all evening. She pulled the heavy wool coat over her head, using it as a little tent, and wrapped the rest around herself tightly. She listened to the drops falling onto the sturdy material, more frequent each time. It wouldn't keep her dry for very long, but she didn't feel like moving just yet, or shield herself from the rain underneath the rickety roofs that hung over parts of the balconies. The wind that played with her long hair turned colder, and screeching birds flew over the fort, ahead of the nearing storm, announcing its arrival.

Down in the courtyard, a woman screamed, and desperately tried to get away from a big, bearded man, wearing no shirt. Up on the balcony where she sat, Eleanor turned to follow their interaction, hoping she would go unnoticed.

The woman rounded on the big man, yelling at him in Spanish, but he didn't seem impressed. He just chuckled, his hands on his gun belt, and took slow steps in her direction, forcing her across the courtyard until her back touched the mudstone wall. Even now she was cornered, the woman didn't cease her verbal attack, and effortlessly continued to yell at the dangerous looking man. He replied in her language, even though he wasn't from her country. His words sounded slurred, and the way he walked betrayed his intoxicated mind.

He moved with impressive speed when he finally decided to turn their fight physical, and grabbed the struggling woman by her throat, tearing her shirt away roughly. She screamed, and cursed, until he cupped her mouth with a big hand. When he raised his other hand to strike her, Eleanor's legs started to move before her brain had even given the command. She threw the coat off her and, tripping over her own skirt, stumbled down the wooden staircase into the courtyard.

"Stop! Stop it! Leave her alone!" Her voice barely reached over the sound of the pouring rain, increasing in strength with every second. When she arrived at the scene, the woman lay in a crumbled heap of bright colored shawls and long dark hair against the mudstone wall. The man had drawn his pistol at the sound of her voice, and turned to her while cocking his weapon. She stopped in her tracks, and watched his dark expression turn into a mocking grin.

A flash of lightning illuminated the man's face, revealing a badly healed scar that ran from his forehead, over his cheek, down to his chin. She wished her eyes didn't widen at the gruesome sight, that she hadn't stopped breathing for that split second, cause her shocked face seemed to amuse him greatly. She jumped slightly when a clap of thunder rolled through the dry desert sky. The storm had arrived, and she let her presence known in all her violent fury. She never broke eye contact with the man as she listened to the rain arriving at the walls of the fort, its sound breaching the atmosphere, until it poured down into the courtyard.

"Yer that prairie dove Cavendish dragged along, aint ye?!" he hollered over the sound of the heavy rainfall, his voice barely audible. She shivered, not from fear, but from the cold water soaking through her dress and chemise, touching her bare skin. Her wet hair in long dark strands like curtains framing her face. "He aint never was one for the damsels in distress, not as long as I've known him!" The man continued, taking another step closer. "So he just got us all wonderin' whut ye got no other woman ever gave to him!"

Too close for comfort now, she took a trembling step back, wrapping her arms around herself protectively. She could feel the cold water run down her hair and into her dress, giving her skin goose bumps. Her warm breath became visible in the cooled down night air, humid from the rain.

"If ye ask me.." The man said, his yellow shot eyes reflecting the lights of one of the lanterns. "Ye aint nuthin' special. Just another rancher's daughter lookin' for trouble in the right place." He continued backing her up across the courtyard.

"I have a gun.." she threatened weakly, her voice a trembling mess. "By God, I'll use it if you intend on killing that woman." Feeling tears well up in her eyes, she wiped them away roughly with her soaked sleeve. "I've seen enough blood shed in the past few days."

He laughed. "well, then ye shouldn't have come between me and that whore, missy. Cause if there's one thing ah hate, is people minding my business instead of their own. I guess ol' Butch should have taught ye that before handin' ye a gun." The man said.

"Is beating up women your business, sir?!" she shot back, lashing out like a cornered tom cat. If she was to die at the hands of this brute, she would die fighting him.

"It is if they refuse me." The man growled. "I don't take rejection from a damn whore. They serve any payin' customer. Ah thought, ye travellin' with ol' Butch, ye would have known all about them whores' life. Aint many ranch girls remainin' ladies once they're in a gang." He chuckled.

Without thinking, and offended at his crude remark, she struck him across his face. Then, realizing what she had just done, she drew in a sharp breath. The man seemed frozen for a second, while the scratch marks on his left cheek created by her finger nails, slowly started to bleed. He bared his teeth, and moved to grab her. Suddenly Frank was at her side, blocking the man's way with his own body. A gun clicked, and the man froze again.

"I don't think so, Jed." Eleanor recognized Barret's gruff voice, and couldn't help but smile at the arrival of her two unlikely heroes. The man, now held at gunpoint, slowly raised his hands in surrender. Barret stepped away from behind him, his gun still pointed at his head.

"Ye git that rusty barker out of mah face, ye French dog." Jed mumbled dangerously. Barret didn't move an inch.

"You causing trouble with them women again, Jed? Aint never a quiet night with you around, is there?" The army surgeon chuckled.

Now safe, Eleanor felt her legs tremble, and Frank's slender arms wrapped themselves around her thin frame. "Ye alright?" The young outlaw asked. "Did he hurt ye?" She shook her head and, remembering the woman knocked unconscious, gently shrugged Frank off. Unsteady, as if she was drunk, she moved over to the prostitute still laying in a crumbled mess. She hadn't moved, blood had covered her entire face, and her eyes stared into nothingness.

"He killed her.." Eleanor stated softly, feeling tears well up.

"Goddammit, Jed.." Barret grumbled. "That's the whore that just had a damn baby, you low life son of a bitch."

Jed spat on the ground, his hands on top of his head as he was still being held at gunpoint. "She refused me.. That's what ye git for refusing me."

"She refused you because she had a damn fucking baby!" Barret yelled, pressing the barrel of his gun deeper into Jed's skull, who whimpered in pain. "You've done it now. You're done for. If Rosa finds out they're gonna hang you next to that lawman in the desert."

Still gazing at the pointlessly butchered young woman, Eleanor felt Frank's presence next to her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. "Ye gotta get outta this rain, miss Hartley. Aint no helpin' her now. They'll go and bury her in the mornin'." The sound of a crying baby slowly reached her numbed mind, and she looked around frantically.

"He didn't kill the baby.." she said to no one in particular, and left Frank's side in her search to find the child. The heart tearing wailing came from one of the candle lit rooms surrounding the courtyard, and she found the baby unscathed in its crib, in a completely upturned room. She rushed to take the child in her arms, hushing it gently. "It's okay.." she soothed. "You're okay."

Suddenly there were voices in the courtyard, calling out to God knows what into the dark. Lanterns were being lit, and she could hear men run across the rickety wooden boards that made the balconies. The fort had awakened at the drama taking place in its courtyard. But all she could think about at that moment, was to get this child to stop crying, even though its mother had just been killed.

A haggard looking Rosa suddenly appeared next to her, her hazel eyes wild, her hair a mess, and her shirt unbuttoned. "Give me the child!" she commanded, taking the baby from Eleanor carefully, but without hesitation. "I'll have him killed for this. Dios mio, I swear I'll hang him for this." She rocked the baby in a slightly agitated manner, her eyes watery as she tried to swallow back her tears. Eleanor watched her walk back and forth in the upturned room, completely destroyed by the struggle that had taken place between Jed and the unfortunate child's mother. "I'll tie him behind a horse and have it drag him into the desert!" Rosa continued. "I'll have Cavendish rip his heart out.."

"I aint for hire.." Butch's gruff voice said. The gang leader leaned against the doorpost of the room, looking around with an unreadable expression on his face. His stained shirt hung open, and his suspenders were down, the trousers of his pants tucked into his boots. He had dressed in a hurry, much like Rosa. His gaze rested on Eleanor, and his eyes wandered up and down, scanning her body for injuries. "Ye alright?" she nodded.

Rosa huffed impatiently. "How is that every time you show up at my place, one of my girls ends up dead?!"

Butch shifted where he stood, looking almost offended. "How the hell is this mah fault?! God damn it, Rosa. Ah was layin' on top of ye when this happened! Ah don't think ye got a valid reason te blame me for this mess!"

"You're bad luck! Always have been! Always will be!" Rosa hissed at him, and moved around him to leave the room, still holding the crying baby to her bossom. "Not gonna argue with ye on that one.." Butch mumbled, gazing down at the tips of his snake leather boots. "But it still aint mah fault!" He called after her, over his shoulder. Embarrassed, Eleanor tried to look anywhere but at the gang leader, but eventually, they locked eyes again. "Guess ah'll git out of this room before the roof comes down.." He growled menacingly. "Since ahm such a piece of bad luck.." Before she could say something, he had turned to leave, and disappeared behind the curtain of rain still flooding the courtyard.

Rosa's guards had tied Jed's arms behind his back, and as he struggled against the ropes, he spat insults at every man he could identify in the pouring rain. Eleanor lingered in the destroyed room, pointlessly turning over the thin iron framed bed, setting it back on its four rickety legs, and throwing the pillows back onto the stained matrass. It wasn't until she heard Jed bark at Butch that she went out to see what was happening.

"That's a mighty fine gal ye got there skipping along with ye, Butch!" Jed hollered at the tired and uninterested looking gang leader, who had taken to circling around the tied up man, ignoring his spectators. "Ah bet she aint fresh though." Jed continued. "Bet yer whole gang ploughed through her like a damn freight train."

His words didn't seem to faze Butch, for the outlaw simply crossed his arms over his chest while watching the guards tie Jed to a post in the middle of the courtyard.

"Or maybe.." Jed spat, a grin on his face. "She don't belong te ye. Maybe she belongs te that damn brother of yers. Wasn't he always one to keep all them gals te himself? Then again.. with a face like yours.. who could have blamed any of those women for picking him over ye." He laughed. Butch's expression had darkened, and Ray had come to his side in an attempt to calm him down.

Jed mocked his surprised expression. "Oh ah git it." he said. "Ye want te keep this one te yerself, don't ye? He don't know about this one, does he? She aint properly introduced into the family yet, is she?" He chuckled menacingly. "As soon as he jingles his silver in front of er pretty little face, she gonna tell ye te go chase yerself.. Like all them others did."

Jed would have said more, had Butch's knife not been pressed against his throat. The gang leader had moved in a flash, growling like a wounded coyote, and was now an inch away from cutting the other man's jugular veins. Jed whimpered as the sharp knife dug into the soft skin of his throat, and held as still as he could.

"Ye got a pretty big mouth for a tied up man, Jed." Butch hissed, baring his teeth.

"Go ahead and kill me." Jed spat back. "Ye cut mah throat ye aint never setting foot in here again. Ye know the rules."

Butch growled again, sounding more like an animal than a man, and sunk the edge of his knife deeper into the man's skin. "Ah think ye did away with the rules when ye killed that whore. Ah think Rosa don't mind me cutting ye up like the pig ye are. Ah think ah'll take mah chances."

"Go te hell.." Jed grumbled.

"Ah'll get there, Jed." Butch confirmed. "But I aint goin' there blind and deaf like you will." He moved the knife to the man's right ear, causing him to whimper in fright. Eleanor looked away quickly when the soul tearing scream of the man echoed through the courtyard, causing the horses to neigh and rear in panic. Another clap of thunder rolled through the sky, and the spectators surrounding the bleeding man and his attacker, retreated under the balconies. Only Frank remained at close proximity to his leader, his arms wrapped around himself.

"Butch, the storm's getting worse! Ye gotta git inside!" He pleaded.

Taking a step back to admire his work, Butch grinned at the crying and bleeding man in front of him. "Nah, Frankie!" He called back to his henchman. "She's just getting' started!" Another flash of lightning revealed Jed's bloodied face, and the intense fear in his eyes as Butch held up the dripping knife to him. "We haven't seen nuthin' yet.." The leader hissed at him. At the second scream that tore through her head like Butch's knife had cut through her brain, Eleanor felt herself getting lightheaded. She was still standing when another flash of lightning ripped through the sky, but had blacked out by the time the thunder followed.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20:

She woke with a start. The images that had made her faint, haunted her in her dreams. She was no longer laying on the dust covered floor of the upturned room. They had placed her on a bed. One of better quality than the ones she had seen around the fort so far. She listened, nothing seemed to move, everything was still. All she heard was the sound of rain, steadily coming down from the heavens. Moving her head toward the open window, the glass missing, and the frame rotting, she watched the faded and torn red curtain dance in the cool wind. The violent storm had moved, and had left a gloomy, grey day.

Holding a trembling hand to her forehead, she slowly pushed herself into a sitting position. Carefully resting her back against the iron framed headboard. It was only then that she noticed the little boy she had seen before, sitting on the foot end of her bed. His sky blue eyes gazing at her intently, his knees tucked under his chin. She blinked in surprise.

"Hello again.." she said softly. The boy didn't answer. "Where's your mother?"

"She was the one who told me to sit here and keep an eye on you. So that's what I'm doing." The boy replied.

"I see." Eleanor replied, still trying to regain her bearings after having been unconscious for a while. She cleared her throat, looking around the room. An old rusty wood stove stood in the corner, giving out a pleasant and welcome heat. A kettle, filled with water, produced thin clouds of steam. There was a faded Aztec patterned carpet on the floor, one that had seen better days. The wooden closet that stood tall against the mudstone wall, seemed out of place, and put there by someone who didn't care about decoration that matched its surroundings. Crudely crafted wooden shelves were nailed against the mudstone, littered with books, gemstones, coins she didn't recognize, and several tin and copper items. It was an odd looking collection of curiosities she hadn't seen before, and seemed to hold no particular theme. The room had no door, just a long, colourful curtain hanging in the doorway. "Who's room is this?"

"My mother's." The boy answered. "But she said she won't sleep until the evil spirit leaves anyway."

She frowned. "Evil spirit?"

The boy nodded, and shrugged. "That's what White Feather calls him anyway. She also says I have his eyes."

Smiling weakly, the mysterious Evil Spirit identified, Eleanor nodded. "You do.."

At that moment, the curtain that made the door, was pushed aside, and Rosa entered. The orphaned baby, now wrapped in much cleaner and better looking blankets, held tightly against her chest. "You're up." She stated. "Bueno. How are you feeling?" Her question felt like an impatient form of politeness, like she was in too much of a hurry to inquire about her wellbeing.

Swallowing thickly, Eleanor ignored the half meant question. "Did he kill him?" she asked, dreading the answer. She feared she would never forget the gruesome sight of Butch cutting off the man's ears, and God knows what else while she was out. She realized, now more than ever, that her dream about Evans, had not been caused by her hallucinating brain.

Rosa regarded her impassively for a moment, before turning toward her son. "Emilio, go see if White Feather needs your help with something."

The boy, stubborn as a young mule, huffed in annoyance. "She never needs help with anything!" he protested.

Rosa clicked her tongue and reached out to grab the child by his arm, pulling him off the bed roughly. "You do as I tell you! Andale! Now!" She pushed him toward the door, moving her arm in wild movements, awakening the infant in her arms. She waited till the boy's footsteps could be heard shuffling down the staircase, before speaking. "He did not kill him." she said matter of factly, impatiently hushing the fussy baby. "I stopped him in time."

"Why?" Eleanor asked. "Not that I.. agree with murder but, you had every reason to have him killed. And you said you wanted him dead."

"People say a lot of things when they're hurt." Rosa stated calmly, gently smiling at the calming child. "I decided a long time ago, that within these four walls, there would be no killing."

"Not even by Mr. Cavendish.." Eleanor asked softly, the question rhetorical.

"He knows better than to cross me." Rosa answered, sitting down on the side of the bed now the baby had gone back to sleep. She gazed at the young woman, studying her quietly. "He carried you up here." She continued, her voice void of any emotion. "And stayed at your side until it was clear you would be fine."

A little embarrassed, Eleanor looked away. "Yes, well. He's seen demonstrated before I can't last an hour by himself out here. He probably thought I'd manage to anger another mob of people just laying here by myself."

Rosa laughed. Her smile warming up her gaunt face, making her look much younger. "I'm sure that's why he did it."

A silence fell between them, until the boy's voice could be heard down in the courtyard, calling the dogs for their breakfast. The Native woman named White Feather had obviously found a chore for him to do. Eleanor opened her mouth to ask something, but Rosa beat her to it.

"Emilio is his son.." She said. "That was what you were going to ask, wasn't it?"

Eleanor bit her lip. "Does he know?"

"Neither of them knows. I want it to stay that way. I don't want Emilio to grow up with the idea he's the son of murderer and a whore. And I don't want Cavendish to never show his face in here again. I know I would never see him again, if I told him about it." Rosa explained, shrugging it away.

Saddened by the woman's explanation, Eleanor forced herself to be optimistic. Like her mother had taught her to do so, when dealing with another person's problems or insecurities. "He might surprise you." She suggested.

Rosa only smiled, almost genuinely. "He always does."

Eleanor returned the woman's smile shyly, unsure of what to say. She didn't know Butch as well as Rosa did, and she wasn't sure Butch wanted her to know him any better than she did now. She wasn't even sure if she wanted to know him better. The things she had seen him do last night, were nothing short of the kind of horror stories her grandfather used to tease her with before he lost the ability to speak. About desert ghosts, roaming around the empty plains, waiting for inexperienced trappers and cowboys, to lead them onto a false trail. They looked like fog, and could make you lose your way.

"You've known him for a long time, haven't you?" Eleanor asked. Rosa nodded, looking around the room.

"I was much younger than you are now when I first met him. He was still travelling with his older brother back then." She explained, her expression vacant, musing on memories Eleanor knew nothing about. "I still remember the day they came here with their saddle bags full of silver." She continued, getting up from the bed to pick up a glistening rock from one of the shelves. "I was too young to realize it's worthless here." She handed Eleanor the heavy stone. "But it makes for an interesting looking thing to have in your room, doesn't it?" she laughed bitterly.

Eleanor toyed with the rock in her hands for a moment. "He mentioned his brother to me only once. But when I asked about it, he told me to drop the subject." She shrugged lightly. "Evans mentioned silver the day he attacked me."

"Yes, Cavendish told me all about you and dear old Evans. That pendejo got what was coming to him. You're not the first woman he attacked." Rosa spoke, letting her fingers roam over the titles written on the backs of the various books on the shelves. "Ah, here it is." Careful not to disturb the row of old books, she picked one up. "I take it you can read?"

Eleanor looked up in surprise. "Yes, I can."

"Bueno." Rosa smiled, handing her a dusty copy of Charles Dickens' David Copperfield. "You know it?"

Eleanor shook her head, her beaming smile visible as she opened the cover. "No, I know the title from the catalogue at the General Store in Colby. But mother thought it to be too expensive to order." She browsed through the pages. "Where did you get this?"

Rosa smiled mischievously. "How many outlaws do you think can pay me in coins? This isn't Red's, you know. Men pay me with whatever they have of some value." She gestured toward the shelves. "Hence the collection." She chuckled, gazing at the girl kindly. "I want you to have that book. It will keep you company, and take your mind away from the harsh reality whenever you want to escape."

Still unable to hide her smile, Eleanor held the book tightly against her chest. "Thank you. I really appreciate it."

The woman nodded, shifting the baby in her arms. "Get some rest. If we have to believe Cavendish, you'll be on your way tomorrow morning. But I've known him long enough to know that can change any time." She turned to leave.

"If you see him." Eleanor started. "Could you ask him to come to me for a moment?"

Standing in the doorway, Rosa smiled. "I'll tell him as soon as he wakes up. He's resting now. When we released Jed they started fighting like dogs, like coyotes." She chuckled. "He's getting old. Not as fast as he used to be." She winked at the girl playfully.

Feeling her stomach turn, Eleanor's eyes had gotten wide as saucers. "But he.. he's alright?" she asked carefully. Amused, Rosa chuckled at the young woman's worried expression.

"I wouldn't be surprised if he got his nose broken again." She sat, tapping the side of her nose. "It wouldn't be the first time. Don't worry, Chiquita. It's nothing he can't handle. Get some rest." Still chuckling, Rosa left, leaving the girl behind in the colourful room.

She was left to herself and her reading for most of the day. The fort awakened slowly, every man plagued by their own hangover. But soon the place started smelling like breakfast, and the feast at the long wooden tables started over again, the events of the night before seemed completely forgotten. The music returned, and so did the playing of children and barking of dogs. Some men left, she listened to them saddling their horses, stampeding out of the courtyard in large groups. Other men arrived, and the women on the balconies called out to them excitingly. But the room she had been given, was secluded, and safe from everything that went down in the rest of the fort. White Feather had come in later to bring her a tray of food, and had lingered in her room, folding laundry, talking in her native language. Eleanor was unable to follow her stories, but appreciated the woman's efforts to make herself understandable anyway.

The gentle buzz of the courtyard had caused her to doze off eventually, her book on her chest. Slumbering only lightly, she woke with a start at the sound of heavy footsteps, accompanied by clicking spurs that jangled eerily with every step. Someone dragged themselves up the staircase to Rosa's private quarters in a slow, strenuous manner. As she sat up to receive this unknown visitor, a tired looking Butch pulled the curtain aside to step into her room. His right eye a dark, angry purple that reached till the bridge of his bruised nose.

"Oh my Lord, your face.." Eleanor mumbled a little too loudly, causing him to stop dead in his tracks with an offended expression.

"Hey now." He grumbled, his arms open. "Ah thought ye'd be used to mah ugly mug by now." Chuckling at her obvious embarrassment, he approached the bed in slow, swaying steps, and sat down on the side stiffly. "How we doin' in here, Sharky?" He asked with a gruff voice. "Quite a night, huh?"

"You broke your nose." She stated worriedly, gazing wide eyed at the serious mix of colours between his vibrant blue eyes. He didn't seem upset by her statement, and returned her wild stare with a tired expression, blinking slowly.

"Yea, probably." He confirmed. "It's fine. I just can't blow mah nose for a while, that's all." He sniffed lightly, and winced against the sharp pain. "Can't do that neither." He chuckled.

She reached out but hesitated, withdrawing her hand again, unsure of how he would react to her touch. He followed her every movement, but made no comment. "Did you take anything for the pain yet?" she asked quietly. "Or have Barret look at it."

"He looked at it and said it was broken." Butch explained. "If you think my face looks bad, ye should have seen Jed's" He chuckled gruffly.

She could only imagine what the man looked like now, and made a face at the images her brain cooked up for her. "Rosa told me you two fought." She spoke quietly. "But you didn't kill him."

"Close enough.." He mumbled, looking down at the blood stained cuffs of his sleeves. "Ah probably would have if he hadn't punched me square in the mug. Made me see stars." He chuckled, slightly embarrassed. "Ah've never been much good in a fistfight."

She gazed at him quietly, noticing how tired he looked, even after resting for a good few hours. "She also said you wanted to leave tomorrow morning. Are you sure you're well enough for that?" He narrowed his eyes at her, smiling lightly.

"Whut's all this sudden worry about now, Sharky?" He asked suspiciously. "ye been talkin' te Rosa for too long. She's been treatin' me like ahm Father Time himself." He pushed himself up from the bed, slightly agitated. "Ahm fine. Ye need te worry about sumthin' ye worry about yerself. Yer the one getting' in trouble all the damn time."

She huffed, offended. "Getting in trouble is not very hard for a woman in a place like this." she started. "If you hadn't left me to my own defence, because you needed to lay with a woman so badly, I wouldn't have gotten in trouble."

Setting his hands in his side, he shifted his weight, gazing at her in mild surprise. "Is that what this is about now?" He grumbled. "Ye got yer feathers ruffled because of a damn whore?" His tone had gotten slightly darker, but not enough to let her know she was going too far. He took a step toward the bed. "Well, next tahm ah feel like..layin' with a woman.. I'll just come te you instead, how's that? That way ah don't need te leave yer side for one damn minute."

"That is not the point at all!" She protested, feeling herself grow red. "I.. I'm simply talking about.. stating priorities! You blame me for getting into trouble, but you could have easily avoided that by using your influence around here to just.. lock me away in a room!"

"Ah took ye for smart enough not te go and mess around with men like Jed out there!" He barked, getting angry. "Ah thought ye learned yer damn lesson after Evans! Why the hell did ye stray away from Frank anyway?! Ye two are two peas in a pot, why would ye go around and play the explorer in a place like this?!"

"Don't you blame him for what happened to me!" She shot back in Frank's defence. "Atleast he didn't pay for a woman's goods!"

He was silent for a moment, and she knew she had crossed the line. His breathing had gotten heavy and almost laboured. He looked away from her, nodding to himself, his rage building slowly. "Ye gettin' mouthy with me, yer gonna regret it." He warned. She looked away from his piercing glare, and pursed her lips in anger. She didn't know where these feelings of humiliation and offense came from. "I already regret many things, Mr. Cavendish." She said.

"Is that so now?" he took another threatening step to the bed. "Well maybe I should just heed everyone's advice and leave ye here then. Make ye someone else's problem. Cause ahm gettin' mighty tired of it anyhow!" In a flash of anger he kicked over a small table serving as nightstand, sending it flying across the room. She shrank away from the flying pieces of broken furniture, hiding her face. "Tired of runnin' from those damn rangers, tired of thinkin' about that damn ranch!" He paced through the room furiously. "And tired of you!" He hissed menacingly, turning to leave.

"Wait!" she called after him, feeling panic rising in the pit of her stomach. She tried to get out of bed, but her legs refused to support her weight. She grabbed the metal bedframe to keep herself from falling, clinging to it miserably as he marched down the wooden staircase. "You're not going to leave me here, are you?!" He didn't answer. Unable to walk, she sank back down onto the old matrass, trying to calm herself. She shivered, wearing nothing but her chemise. He had every right to do as he pleased, and it wasn't her place to criticize his choices, but somehow the fact he had left her there on the balcony alone to visit Rosa had offended her greatly.

Down in the courtyard, she could hear Butch bark orders at his gang, but none of the members replied in clear ways. The moment she heard a horse neigh, she got up from the bed and stumbled to the window, just in time to watch the gang leader chase his mare out of the courtyard and into the vast open desert. None of his men followed, and she could see Barret and Ray watch their leader leave the fort on breakneck speed.

Completely forgetting she was wearing nothing but her chemise, she stumbled out of the room and down the wooden staircase into the courtyard, almost tripping over her own uncooperative feet, she marched up to Barret with a shocked expression, ignoring the hollering and catcalling of the outlaws surrounding them. "Where is he going?!" she asked, panic in her voice. The army surgeon seemed mildly surprised at her sudden appearance and was just in time to grab her before she fell to the dusty ground.

"You shouldn't be out of bed." Barret mumbled with a half meant tone. "What the hell happened between you two?"

That was a good question. It had all happened so very fast, it now seemed a blur to her memory. Concentrating on her breathing for a moment, in an attempt to calm herself, she got slightly more aware of her surroundings. The cool breeze playing with the hem of her torn underdress, and the thick smell of roasted meats and spices. A little more steady on her feet, she gently let go of Barret's arm, but he didn't release his iron grip around her waist. "I.. I made a mistake.. I said something I shouldn't have said. I don't even know why I said it but.. I made him angry.."

As Barret listened to her story, Frank joined in, followed by Skinny and Jesus. "Whut's goin' on? Where's Butch goin?" He asked. Barret didn't answer right away as he allowed the young woman to cry into his shoulder, a slightly uncomfortable expression on his face. "Stop asking questions, and get Rosa, you Goofball." He grumbled at the young outlaw, who nodded and went to look for the woman immediately.

"Is alright now, miss Hartley." Skinny tried, patting Eleanor on her back carefully. "Ah'll go and make ye some coffee, that'll make ye feel better." Barret rolled his eyes at the bearded young man, but was glad to see he had given himself a task that involved leaving.

"What did you say to him?" The army surgeon's question reached her numbed mind slowly, and she frowned in contemplation. While he waited for her answer, Rosa walked up to them in a calm and collected manner, much different from when the baby's mother had been killed.

"I told him.." Eleanor started, but hesitated when she noticed Rosa. "I don't mean to offend anyone.." She pleaded. "I'm so sorry." Rosa ignored her, and placed a hand to the girl's forehead. "She's burning up." She stated. "We need to get her upstairs."

"I'm gonna feel this in the morning." Barret protested, picking up the barely conscious girl. "Alright now, little lady. There just aint no rest for the wicked, is there?"

"Miss Rosa.." Eleanor started weakly, reaching out to the woman, who took her hand gently while following Barret up the staircase. "He left because of me."

"Don't worry about it, chica." Rosa smiled. "He'll be back. Let him ride off the liquor in the desert if he wants to. Much better than causing trouble at my tables." She joked for the girl's sake.

Gently placing her back on the bed, Barret sat down on the side to feel her pulse. "If you're sick, you've been sick for a while and you've been hiding it very well from the rest of us." He told her. "If you're not sick, you're just exhausted and people can say a lot of crazy things when they're overtired. Trust me, I've been in the trenches. I've seen men ramble about the maddest shit after four days of no sleep."

Eleanor was quiet, his words barely making sense to her. Turning her head to the window, a flash of lightning could be seen in the distance. Another thunderstorm promised its presence for the coming night, the rain season had begun. "I'm scared of thunder.." she confessed weakly. "I just wanted him to stay with me."

Barret said nothing, and looked at Rosa for help, but she looked just as impassive. "Get some rest, Eleanor." He mumbled, pushing himself off the bed. "I'll get her some laudanum to help her sleep."

Rosa waited till he had left before taking his place on the side of the bed, gently resting her hand to the girl's cheek, caressing her skin with her thumb. "Chiquita.." she whispered affectionately, watching the girl slowly tear up miserably. "Whatever you said to him, I'm sure he was just as surprised as you are." She chuckled, reaching out to brush away the girl's tears.

"Do you want to know what I said to him?" Eleanor mumbled, staring at the ceiling.

"No." Rosa spoke calmly. "You and him can keep your secrets."

"I offended you too.. in what I said to him. I told him I wouldn't have gotten hurt if he hadn't decided to pay for a woman." The girl continued.

Rosa just chuckled. "Well.. if it changes anything, miss Eleanora.. I don't think his mind was with me that night."

R&R Please!


	21. Chapter 21

To Outlaw Bear: Your guest review just made my day! Thank you so much for being so kind. I hope this next chapter will bring you the same joy. I know I can't reply to you personally, but I needed to reach out to you any way I possibly could, to thank you properly!

To the guest reviewer with the good question about Eleanor's age: She's 24 Thanks!

To all of my other reviewers, favs and follows: Thank you thank you thank you! You guys inspire me to keep writing! Enjoy the next chapter!

Chapter 21:

She wasn't awake to hear the storm hit the fort in all her autumn fury. She was wrapped in the dream that kept haunting her since the day she met the gang leader who now chased his demons across the Mexican desert like a wild animal. They were images of coyotes with blue eyes. Rabbits devouring eachother mercilessly, the steam and sound of train engines, and a native village slowly burning to the ground while the eerie sound of crying children echoed through the smoke filled sky.

Frank never strayed from her side that night. Sitting in a corner of the room in a rickety old chair, he kept a respectful distance from the girl in the bed, but his eyes never left her sleeping form, restless as it was. She tossed and turned like the matrass was made out of nails, and the sheets were hot as coals. Her dreams plagued her, like he knew they could do, but he didn't have the courage to rise her. And Barret had told him to let her sleep no matter what she did or said. It was smart to heed Barret's advice in these sort of situations. He knew what he was talking about after all.

Thinking about his leader, chasing his poor mare through this loud weather, he frowned in anger and disappointment. It should have been him sitting in this chair, looking out for her, like he knew she wanted. But as usual, Butch had left the complicated tasks to his gang. Matters of the heart were never easy, Frank remembered his mother saying. They can make you as tired as if you had been ploughing a field all day. Matters of the heart feel like draining a sink. Only the sink is your heart, and the water your stamina.

He jumped at another loud crack of thunder, never having been a hero himself when it came to thunderstorms. But he needed to be tough for Eleanor tonight, and so he shut off his own fear, and braved himself through this weather, awake and alert, watching over her like a true friend would do. Turning his head toward the open window, he shivered at the cold breeze rushing over him, the rain was so loud, it drowned out every other sound. The balconies, flooded with water, abandoned. And the whole fort pitch dark, no lanterns that survived the amount of water that came down from the sky. But he didn't worry about Butch being able to find his way back, in case he wanted to, his leader had proved time and time again he had perfect night vision. Almost inhuman. If you thought about it.

He had begun falling asleep, dozing off against his own will, when he was shaken from his slumber by the sound of a neighing horse that came to a breezing halt, and later, heavy footsteps on the creaking wooden staircase that lead into the courtyard. Reaching for his gun, Frank straightened his back, ready to wear off any unwanted trespasser in the bedroom of the young woman he was appointed to guard.

A soaked through Butch stepped into the room, his long coat leaving a trail of drops on the dusty wooden floor. Noticing the young man in the corner with a gun pointed at him, he halted. "The hell are you doin' here?"

Frank, recognizing his leader, quickly put his gun away, almost dropping it to the floor in his clumsy hurry. "Ahm sorry, Butch. Ah didn't know it was you." He stammered apologetically. "Ah was just.. guarding miss Hartley here. Don't want no one comin' in here to do.. bad things.. te her.. again."

Butch didn't reply, and took off his dripping hat, wringing it out before carelessly tossing it on the floor. "yea well, get out." He mumbled, slowly taking off his drenched coat, his body stiff in every movement. "Ah'll take it from here."

Looking uncertain, Frank didn't budge, and slowly leaned back into his chair defiantly. "Whut ye gonna say te her when she wakes up then?" he asked, a frown on his young face. "Cause ah don't want te see her cry again."

Giving out an angry snarl, Butch reached over to grab Frank by the front of his shirt, and pulled him out of his chair. "Shut up." He hissed, pushing Frank in the direction of the doorway. "Git out before ah blow a hole in yer head."

Although giving out small yelps in fear as he stumbled through the room, Frank turned in the doorway, rubbing his now throbbing arm. "Rosa said she gon' knock yer other tooth out if ye make miss Hartley cry again." He shot back angrily. Butch pulled out his gun, pointing it at his young henchman, who now seemed close to tears, but not because he was talking into the barrel of a revolver. "She got all sick when ye left." Frank continued. "Barret said yer making her sick, and ah think ah believe him."

"Git out, Frank." Butch warned. "Ah aint tellin' ye again. Get Ray for me."

"He's sleepin'" Frank protested weakly.

"Then wake him!"

With one last glance at the sleeping young woman, Frank unwillingly turned to leave, trudging down the staircase with heavy feet. Butch waited till he was gone before putting his gun back into its holster, as if he expected the boy to return any time. Silently, he removed his gun belt and placed it on a small side table. Sinking down in Frank's chair slowly, he let out a deep sigh, resting his head back as he waited for Ray's arrival. Frank was going to need a bucket of cold water to rise that old crook from his liquor induced sleep. Feeling his wet shirt cling uncomfortably to his skin, Butch shifted in the hard chair, his back protesting lightly against the movement. He had dozed off lightly while listening to Eleanor's calm breathing, when Ray's heavy footsteps stirred him from his sleep. The man entered the bedroom moments later.

"When did ye get here?" Ray asked gruffly, too loud for Butch's liking, and the latter hushed him angrily, nodding at the sleeping girl. Ray seemed uninterested in following his leader's gaze, as if he tried to ignore the woman's presence completely.

"Keep yer voice down." Butch warned him as he pulled himself out of the chair. "We'll talk in the other room." Leading the way, Ray followed him into the adjoining room. Just as colourful, and obviously belonging to Rosa as well. Functioning as sitting room and office. Her books and curiosities scattered around on various cabinets and shelves. But she herself had other places to be tonight.

"Ye got something to say, say it." Ray grumbled, watching Butch pace through the room restlessly, until he came to a contemplating halt by the window. "It's late, Butch. We aint all crazy enough to go out ridin' in the dead of night."

"There's five men following us." Butch stated calmly. "Ah saw them. On the trail here."

Ray blinked, staring at his leader impassively. "Rangers can't find this place. Ye've seen ghosts." But Butch shook his head.

"No Rangers." He confirmed. "It's them bowler hats ah seen at the girl's ranch. Railroad men. With Evans as their guide."

"Evans?" Ray chuckled bitterly. "How the hell is he still ridin'? Didn't ye say ye made it unable for him to ride anywhere with anyone?"

Butch said nothing, and turned to face Ray, leaning his back against the mudstone wall. "Well, ah did mah best. But ah guess that old fool is tougher than he looks." He chuckled, folding his arms over his chest. "It don't matter one way or the other. It'll be another half a day before they get here. We'll be long gone when they arrive. Ah'll let Rosa know about it. She can delay them, give us some time."

"Ah say we leave right now." Ray suggested, obviously itching to make his departure. "And get the hell out of here. Get some miles between us and those agents. If they're what hunts us, we best get goin' They don't have the same reservations as them Rangers and ye know it."

Butch shook his head, staring down at his boots. "Nah, we're gonna give that girl a few more hours of sleep." He spoke calmly. "Ah owe her that."

"Ye don't owe her nuthin'." Ray fired back, watching his leader shift his weight, getting uncomfortable with the subject already. "Ah say we leave her here. Like ah said before. She's better off with them whores anyway."

Butch shrugged. "Maybe." He mumbled, fumbling with his stained cuffs. "But we aint gonna do no such thing."

Ray let out a mocking huff. "And why the hell not?!"

"Because ah promised her ah wouldn't." Butch said, looking up at him calmly, tiredly. "Ye go and tell the boys we're leaving at dawn. Have them bring supplies, but nothing heavy. We'll be travelling light." He straightened his back, stretching it painfully. "Now get out."

Ray didn't move, and stared at his leader angrily. "She's gonna slow us down. If those agents are here, then God knows where them Rangers are heading. We might be walkin straight into their arms if we cross that border again." Butch said nothing, and took to rummaging through a cabinet until he found a bottle of tequila. "Butch, they tried te hang me once and they failed, but ah aint too curious te find out if they'll succeed the second time."

Plopping the cork, Butch took a deep swig from the bottle, and made a face at the unkind taste to his tongue. "Ah don't care about yer hangin' Ray" He stated menacingly. "They can make ye swing next to that lawman in the desert for all ah care. Ah won't shed a tear over yer sorry ass. But ah won't be able te live with mahself if those bastards get their hands on that girl. Ah dragged her here.. and ahm gonna finish what ah started." He gazed at his henchman, a clear warning in his blue eyes.

"All they want is te get her home te her mama!" Ray protested. "It'll be yer head on a silver platter if they find her, with you at her side!"

"They aint lookin' fer a tearful reunion between her and her mother. Ah know they don't." Butch shot back. "She's better off with us fer now."

"Right." Ray sneered. "Ah didn't know this whole thing was some personal mission for ye te convince yer little rancher's girl ye aint the big bad wolf."

Butch chuckled bitterly, taking another deep swig. "Ah think she's got me pretty well figured."

"Saving her life won't change a thing about what we are." Ray said. "Ah had a wife once.." Butch rolled his eyes, shrugging off his waistcoat and throwing it over a chair, as the alcohol was heating up his body. "She wanted me to become a farmer. Aint no life fer me. Getting' up at the ass crack of dawn, ploughing all day. Ah spend two years tryin' to make that damn broad happy."

"Are ye done?" Butch said, staring at the older man with raised eyebrows, completely uninterested. Ray stared at him for a moment. "yea, ahm done." He grumbled. "Ah'll go and inform the men." Butch followed him out of the room with his blue eyes, dulled by the alcohol, and waited till the older man was at the bottom of the creaking staircase before making his way back to the hard chair he had previously occupied.

He shuffled through the bedroom with tired feet, and placed the chair at the foot end next to the bed. He plopped down in it ungracefully. He had been riding all night, a hard chair wouldn't make his behind any more sore than it already was. He concentrated on the dull throb in the small of his back, numbed by the alcohol, but he was going to hear from it again in the morning. Along with a hangover. Where was Skinny with that bitter ratbag shit he called coffee when you needed him? He took another swig from the bottle, already half way through. He didn't want to feel another single thing. Be it physical or emotional.

It didn't take long before the girl in the bed started stirring, and slowly turned over to face him, her eyes dull but open, red shot and puffy like she had been crying. He gazed back at her impassively, remembering Frank's words about her distress. And that she hadn't felt that good. Well, neither did he. She blinked, as if she hardly believed the figure she was staring at, and pulled herself into a sitting position slowly. For a while nothing was said, and she rubbed her arm nervously, feeling naked under his stare. Sensing her uneasiness, he averted his gaze, his eyes falling on the book on the repaired nightstand beside her bed.

"What are ye readin'" He asked.

She looked at the book, confused at his question. "Ehm.. David Copperfield. You heard of it?"

He chuckled. "Do I look like a literate man te you?"

She bit her bottom lip in uncertainty. "I do not have the faintest idea what literate men look like." She mumbled.

"Like Barret." Butch answered. "Usually a little cleaner."

She couldn't help but smile at that, and looked away, her hands fumbling with the old patched blanket that covered her. "Rosa gave it to me." She stated, not sure if it was the right thing to say at this moment. He said nothing in return, and gazed at her calmly, tiredly. "She said it would help me escape from reality whenever I want to." He tilted his head at her, but still refrained from saying anything. "I guess what I'm trying to say is, I owe you an apology." She continued, looking up at him. He raised his eyebrows in slight mocking sort of surprise. "I.. it wasn't my place to.. criticize your.. habits."

He let out a dry chuckle. "Habits? Yer makin' it sound worse than it is."

She sighed, annoyed with herself, and looked away. "Well, I don't know what else to call it." she shrugged. "But it doesn't matter. That's your business. And I.. I shouldn't have.. thrown it back into your face like I did."

"Alright." He said.

She looked up, confused. "Alright what?"

"Apology accepted." He explained, giving her a lopsided smile.

She was silent for a moment, but then nodded. "Thank you. In case you're wondering.. Rosa is downstairs in the kitchen with White Feather. She'll spend the night there." He said nothing, and closed his eyes for moment as he let out a slightly annoyed sigh, but his tired smile never left his face. "Well just.. in case you were looking for her." She continued shyly.

"Ahm not." He stated calmly. "Ahm fine where ah ahm. Unless ye want me out cause ah smell like a wet dog."

She shook her head quickly. "No, I didn't mean to imply that at all. You.. you smell fine." She mentally kicked herself for her clumsy statement, but he just grinned wickedly. "Why would you smell like a wet dog?" she asked, sincerely puzzled.

"Because I'm wet.." He stated dryly. "I'd take it all off if ah had a room te myself, but ah don't think ah'll find one at this hour, and with this weather. No one's out so.." He shifted in his chair, and she could hear the wet material of his clothing make squeaky sounds on the polished wood. "Ah thought ah'd sit with ye for a while, dry up a bit." He leaned back slowly, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling of his drenched garments.

"You're going to get sick this way." She said softly. He returned her worried look with a sly grin, and stretched his stiff back, his arms above his head. His spine cracking uncomfortably, reaching beyond his bones' limits. She flinched at the painful sounds of his body, until he slumped in his chair again, relaxing every muscle. "Ah don't really mind bein' sick with ye around. Ye get all fussy and worried over me, ah prefer that over yer hissy fits." He teased her, gazing at her lazily. "Yer much nicer te me when ahm sick." Without taking off his boots, he heaved up his legs and placed them on the bed, causing the whole iron frame to rattle. He let out a relieved sigh. "Think ah'll go and get sick again."

She gazed at his snake leather boots on top of the colourful covers. His trousers soaked through, and clinging to his skin. Outside, the rain intensified, and she shivered lightly when a cool breeze crawled through the opened window. He didn't react to it, although he must have felt it when the wind hit his back, playing with the long greying strands of his hair.

"Ah guess ah owe ye an apology too." He started, gazing at her calmly. She didn't look up to meet his eyes, but stared at her hands folded in her lap instead. "Said some things ah didn't mean." He continued, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "Guess that blow to mah head made mah brain swell up."

"It's quite alright." She said quickly. "I was just.. "

"That whole thing with Jed wasn't yer fault." He cut her off. "Ah didn't even know that idiot was stayin' here. Ah thought Rosa forbid him te come back.. Aint the first time he caused trouble."

"It's not your fault either." She argued gently.

"Ah don't know about that." He shook his head. "Ah aint meant te be the one te protect ye. Ahm meant te be the one ye fear.. Ah think it's somethin' like that." He looked around the room, trying to find a way to explain himself. "If there's one thing those damn injuns taught me is that we all have a role te play. And if ye try te play another one.. " He shrugged. "It won't work."

She gazed at him. "Well, I'm still alive. So there must be something you're doing right."

He let out a breathy chuckle. "Yea, I might be yer spirit dog after all, huh? Yer own wet spirit mutt." Setting one foot against the edge of the bed, he let the chair dangle on its hind legs, rocking back and forth dangerously. A flash of lightning crept through the window, illuminating the bedroom for a split second. The low burning candle on the nightstand, flickered in the rush of wind that announced the arrival of another autumn storm. He studied her, still playing with his chair, and chuckled softly when she jumped at the sound of the rolling thunder.

"Ah told ye before." His voice averted her attention away from the window. "Frank's wailing is rubbin' off on ye. Now yer suddenly scared of thunderstorms?"

"I've always felt nervous in this kind of weather." She confessed, feeling herself blush. "I just always did a modestly successful job at hiding it."

"Ye aint doin' much of a successful job at it now." He continued, amused greatly by her fidgety behaviour. She ignored his taunting, and braced herself for another clap when another flash of lightning ripped through the sky. He watched her grip the blankets tightly and squeeze her eyes shut when the rolling thunder caused the wooden doors on the balconies to rattle in their hinges. "Calm down." His voice had gone softer.

"I can't." she protested, giving him a sharp, accusing look. One he answered with a small, teasing smile, her hissy attitude simply amusing him. "Just don't leave. I don't care if you sit there laughing, just promise you stay here." He gazed at her impassively for a while, shifting slightly in his chair.

"Ah can't make the rain stop, Sharky.." He whispered, almost apologetically.

"I know that." She spoke quietly, swallowing away her embarrassment as much as she could. "I just don't want to be alone right now." He let his chair fall back on all four of its legs, and removed his feet from the bed. He stretched again, lazily, like a big cat.

"Ah wasn't planning on goin' anywhere." He said, slumping down in his chair, relaxing his body. He yawned, and shook his head to get rid of the drowsiness the warm room was giving him. "Might fall asleep on ye though."

"Oh, no. Please don't." she spoke quickly, panicking slightly. He rubbed his eyes tiredly, and winced when he hurt his broken nose, and the swollen area around his right eye. He ignored her for a while, too occupied with stirring himself awake. Sleeping in this chair wasn't a good idea anyway. Not with his mangled spine. He sat up, his elbows on his knees, to give his back a break from the wooden bars it had been leaning against. Now the flashes and claps of thunder had become more frequent, she looked perfectly miserable, and he sighed in slight annoyance.

"Alright." He started gruffly. "Ye want te behave like a damn child, ah'll treat ye like one and tell ye a story. How about that?" His offer, anything but sympathetic, made her huff indignantly at first. Getting no audible reaction from her, he simply continued. "ye want te know how ah got those scars? On mah back?"

TBC…. Soon.. real soon.

Sorry for the cliff-hanger, guys. This chapter was originally meant to be much longer, but it got too big for me to upload it in one file. So I had to split it in two. The next chapter is almost finished. So stay tuned for Butch's scar story.


	22. Chapter 22

**To Outlaw Bear:** Thank you once again for another super sweet review! And of course, you can send me anything you like! By the way, I went to your Instagram account, and I loooove your hair, holy shit, that's so awesome.

 **To Voldemort:** Alright.. ALRIGHT!.. The poetry did it. I've never been serenated before, but I found I'm a big sucker for it. Anyway, here's to you, my dear!

 **To all my other wonderful reviewers:** You guys are the backbone of this story, not kidding. I love all of you.

Chapter 22

Now he had her attention, and the storm seemed completely forgotten. She gazed at him curiously, although slightly worried. She remembered her shock at seeing the collection of white lines across the tanned skin of his back, forced into his flesh with great force. "I don't know.." she admitted carefully. "Do I?"

He shrugged, looking around the room. "It aint that interesting, ah can tell ye that. But this seems to be a better moment for tellin' stupid stories than sittin' in a tub with cold water." She still seemed unsure, and he chuckled bitterly. "Hell, if ye don't want te know.."

"I do." She said quickly. "I do want to know."

He studied her for a moment, folding his right leg over his left, and leaned back in his chair. "Alright." He waited, pondering on where he should start. "Ah was.. ah think ah little older than you." He started. "Er maybe just as old, ah don't remember. Anyways, Sheriff of some small dugout town, nasty guy, one of those gritty lawbenders that aint nuthin' better than me, they just get paid more te do it. He got his hands on me. Locked me up in his office. Now they aint allowed te kill ye, er keep ye there for a long period of time. A judge has te come down and give ye a trial. Ye know that right?"

She shook her head.

"Well, that's how it is. They can't make that decision. Ye need a county marshal, or a prosecutor or a judge for that. These folks had a judge." He shrugged. "But while ah was locked in that cell, waiting for that judge to come around, which took days, if not weeks, cause this guy made his rounds, ye know. He took care of more towns like that. While ah was there, ah had te be given two meals a day, and some jackshit deputy had te come in and clean out mah piss bucket." He chuckled menacingly. "Made a complete mess of it every time. Ye should have seen his face."

His laughing contagious, she smiled softly, bracing herself for the moment his now seemingly funny story would turn more serious.

"But eventually that Sheriff got fed up with me, and here comes the brutal part of that law that forbids them te execute me or whatever. They can give ye a corporal punishment instead, and send ye on yer way after." He explained. She blinked in slight horror, swallowing thickly. "So one mornin' he had his deputies lift me from mah bed, tie me to a pole in the middle of that town, got out his horse whip, and beat the absolute shit out of me." He spread his arms, finished with his story, and leaned back in his chair with a triumphant smile.

She stared at him in shock. "And then?" she asked, dreading the answer. He shrugged, shaking his head. "Then nuthin'" he said. "They let me go."

"Just like that?" She continued.

He shrugged again. "Yea, ah was pretty banged up. If they had kept me there, I would have been entitled te a doctor's services on their costs. So they let me go. Cut me loose." She said nothing, and gazed at him in absolute horror. "Ah told ye it wasn't an interesting story." He chuckled.

"It's a sad story." She corrected him gently.

"Yea well.. it was a long time ago. They don't hurt no more." He gave her a small smile. "Now it's yer turn."

She shook her head, and looked away. "I have no stories." She said. "Nothing like that."

"Oh come on. Ah know ye got sumthin'. Everyone's got stories. Don't need te be a story about ye goin' on some grand adventure." He made her laugh, he knew he did. "Join some Injun tribes, being named chief.." she burst out in laughter, and he followed her example. "Don't have te be nuthin' like that. How about ye tell me.. if ye've ever been kissed." He gave her a sly grin, her shocked expression having no effect on his amusement.

"Excuse me?" she asked, trying to look profoundly offended, but his grin only grew wider, making his scar look all the more gruesome. "You're drunk.." she concluded bitterly.

He nodded "Ahm gettin' there.." He took another deep drag from the bottle.

"I don't believe that is any of your business." She huffed.

"Neither are mah scars any of yers." He argued. "Ye started this show and tell by asking me about them, and ah kept mah promise that I'd tell ye all about them one day. Now ah want te know somethin' about ye."

She shook her head, looking away. "No" she spoke shyly after a few seconds of silence. "We lived too far away from town to find me a suitor, or anything of the sort." She shrugged. He said nothing, just gazed at her with a patience than let her know he was waiting for her to continue. Feeling cornered, she sighed impatiently, his completely calm attitude aggravating her even more. "If you want to share stories about intimacies, I suggest you do the talking yourself." She sneered. "After all, I couldn't possibly compete with your extensive experience in that area."

He raised one eyebrow at her biting words, and stuck the toe of his right boot underneath the iron frame of the bed, shoving it toward him slowly, the rusty metal legs of the bed made sharp sounds on the dusty wooden floor. "Don't ye start again." He warned. When the bed was close enough, he could push hard enough to lift up the side, leaving the bed to dangle on its two right legs, causing the girl to grip onto the matrass and blankets to not fall off. She yelped as he threatened to let the bed fall over completely. "Cause ah'll flip ye over and ye can sleep on the damn floor." With one last dangerous push to the right, to enforce his threat, he removed his foot and let the whole bed fall back on all fours with a loud clang, dust particles danced around the room as the shocked girl tried to regain her bearings.

Huffing and puffing as if he had just caused her the greatest offense in the history of offending women, she leaned over the edge of the bed to retrieve a few pillows that had fallen to the floor during his antics. She brushed off the dust and sand before placing them on the bed again, and shot him angry glares, which were answered with slightly amused grins and chuckles.

"I wonder what Rosa will think if you destroy her bed." She mumbled, straightening the blankets in an agitated manner.

"Ah've seen that bed take worse.." He shot back crudely. She stared at him in disgust, her mouth agape, shocked at his comment. "Hey, ye made that one quite easy for me." He chuckled. She said nothing in return, and looked away, feeling all the more uncomfortable with him in the room. He could sense her turning away from him more and more, and sighed. "Ah don't know what te say, Sharky." He mumbled gruffly. "Ye want te set yer mind on what goes on in this place, ye go ahead and do it. It aint gonna change a single thing." She didn't answer, and gazed at the wall in front of her instead. "ye can make all the innuendos ye want, try te insult me while yer at it, but it aint gonna change anythin'"

"I'm not trying to insult you." She argued, her voice soft.

"Yea ye are." He chided gently. "Yer tryin' te get a rise out of me, but it aint gonna work. Ah want ye te get some hair on yer teeth, so men like Jed and Evans can't get te ye that easily anymore. Ye need me to practise on, ye go right ahead."

She listened to the wind howling outside. Autumn storms that lasted for more than four days, brought forth great change, or so her Grandfather had taught her. Sadly enough, she didn't really know for how long it had been storming outside. She had lost count more than once in the past few days. This place had the tendency to make you forget about the world outside its walls.

"Want te see a more interesting scar?"

His voice brought her back to the dim lit bedroom she was currently residing in, away from her mind, and the memories of home that seemed to fade more and more. She looked at him, slightly baffled at his question, and the sudden change of subject. But he just grinned, baring his silver plated tooth, and wiggled his eyebrows teasingly. Before she could properly formulate her answer, he got out of his chair stiffly and gently sat down on the side of the bed, closing most of the previous distance between them. Unsure about their close proximity, she scooted over to give him more room, and watched him pull his suspenders down.

"This one ahm more proud of." He mumbled, unbuttoning his still damp shirt from the bottom up, baring his stomach. "Give me yer hand." He told her, extending his. She just stared at him wide eyed, he chuckled. "It aint gonna bite ye, Sharky." Without waiting for her, he reached out to grab her wrist, finding she offered little resistance in her current state of bewilderment.

She watched her hand disappear under his shirt as he guided her fingers to the underside of his ribcage. As she jumped at the contact, he did the same. "Yer hands are cold.." He complained, chuckling nervously. "Ye feel it?"

She blinked, staring at him, his expression vacant, his eyes dull from the alcohol. "Feel what?"

"If ye don't feel it, ye aint pushing hard enough." He scolded impatiently. "Or maybe we're proddin' in the wrong side." He continued, more to himself than to her. He let go of her hand for a moment, to examine himself, poking around his ribcage with a violent determination that made her squint. "Come on.." he grumbled. "Where are ye."

"What are we looking for exactly?" she asked carefully, watching him poke and prod around his torso, and getting more annoyed with it by the minute. It would have been a comical sight had it not been about an old wound he was trying to show her. He didn't answer, and continued his ardent search. "Please stop, I don't want you to hurt yourself." She pleaded gently.

He stopped moving when his fingers found what they had been looking for. "Got ya." He mumbled, and looked up at her. "Right here." He told her. Afraid to hurt him, she hesitated, but her curiosity got the best of her eventually, and she placed her hand over his own, allowing him to once again guide her fingers under his last row of ribs, this time on the other side. She swallowed thickly at the sensation of his moving body underneath her fingertips, pushed into his skin with a force she would have never used herself. But now she finally felt what he had been wanting to show her all along. This particular rib felt different from the others she had palpated before. There was a bump in the middle of it, as if something had lodged itself into this thin piece of bone. She looked up at him in confusion, not understanding what she was touching. "What is this?" she asked in horror.

"A bullet." He stated, allowing her calmly to roam her fingers over the strange, irregular shape. "Got it in the war." He jumped when she put too much pressure on a particularly sensitive spot, and chuckled apologetically. "Take it easy on me, Sharky. That's a mean one ye got there."

"I'm sorry." She said, but didn't withdraw her hand, her find too interesting. "So is it..still in there?"

He nodded. "Yea, right in the middle of that rib. They couldn't remove it without shattering my entire damn ribcage, so they decided to just let it sit there. Told me it could go two ways. It would start festering, and I'd die. Or it would just sit there and do nuthin' Ah guess it decided on the latter, cause I aint never had no trouble with it." He explained. "Is a little sensitive, that's all."

If someone would have told her two months ago her hand would be underneath Butch Cavendish' shirt someday, she would have probably thrown them out of their house and called them crazy. But here she was, with her hand under his damp shirt, trailing two fingers back and forth over the strange bump in the middle of the usually smooth strip of bone. The strangest thing about the whole situation was that he calmly let her. He had removed his own hand from hers, and was now just holding up his shirt to give her unobstructed access.

She felt strangely fascinated by the rise and fall of his thin chest, his breathing as collected as it could be while she touched him. And never having touched a man like this, or in any other way for that matter, before, she felt giddy and nervous, her heart beating in her throat. But his complete tranquillity calmed her wrecked nerves little by little, letting her know he was fine with whatever she was doing. The only time he moved, was to reach over to her nightstand to grab the bottle of tequila he had put there, and take a deep swig.

"Do you have more scars like these?" she asked eventually, after having relearned how to use her voice. The first state of shock behind her.

"Don't got any more bullets lodged inside mah bones if that's whut ye mean." He chuckled, causing his chest to vibrate under her fingers, her touch momentarily leaving in her still hesitant approach. "But sure ah got more scars." He continued more calmly, getting profoundly weary under her gentle palpations. "They're all over me."

"I want to see them." She spoke, sure of herself, without making eye contact. Too fascinated by what her fingertips were exploring around his ribcage. He said nothing, and reached behind him to grab a few pillows, placing them against the iron framed headboard before slowly leaning back in a more comfortable position, one arm splayed over her side of the bed. She had to move with him to still to be able to touch him, and scooted closer as he lay down. He let out a deep sigh, resting his eyes for a moment.

"Ah want a million dollars cash and a big ol' mansion in Dodge city, but we can't have all we want." He replied softly. "Why don't ye amuse yerself with that one, and let me get some shut eye instead."

"I'm not amusing myself.." she protested weakly, withdrawing her hand. "I have just never seen anyone with scars like that." She pulled his shirt down, covering his mauled ribcage. "I didn't mean to annoy you.."

He shifted slightly, trying to get rid of his boots by scraping his shin against the iron sides of the bed. He seemed to have done it before as she could hear the heavy leather and spurs hit the wooden floorboards seconds later. "Ye aint annoying me." He mumbled. "But ye need te rest up if ye don't want te fall off yer horse tomorrow."

"Are we leaving?" she asked. He nodded slowly, his eyes closed, already half way gone. "Where are we going?" He didn't answer, and she realized he had fallen asleep.

She didn't have the courage to wake him and ask him why he had decided to move on so suddenly, and tried to get herself comfortable in the narrow space he had left for her, careful not to touch his arm with her head. This bed wasn't meant to occupy two people, but it had probably done it lots of times before. She bit her lip as she tried to shift her legs without bumping into his, and failed when she felt her foot get stuck in a still damp fold of his pants. Her eyes switched to his face, scared that he would wake up and get angry. But he gave no reaction. She let out a sigh of relief. If that nudge didn't wake him, he wouldn't wake up to her covering him with the blankets either. She laid down carefully, draping the covers over them both. She hadn't expected to ever share a bed with a man, and although the circumstances under which she was doing it right now were different than what her mother had talked to her about when she came of age, she was strangely happy with whom she was sharing it. Once again in the middle of the lion's mouth, stuck between four rows of teeth, she felt the same feeling of safety wash over her tired being.

In the dim light of the low burning candle she watched his chest rise and fall in a slow, even tempo. His breathing silent, as she knew. One would guess a man of his age, living the life he lives, would have a heavier form of breathing. But in deep sleep, he made no sound. It wasn't wise to snore while camping outside in a place where you shouldn't be, hunted by men trained to find you. He wasn't a heavy sleeper, and she somehow doubted he didn't notice her moving around, bumping into him, but whether he realized it or not, he remained perfectly still.

It wasn't easy to fall asleep. Somehow her body felt like it had to remain awake now her only source of safety had dozed off. When sleep finally decided to take her, her rest was short lived. She didn't know how long she had been asleep, but when she woke, it was at a strong gust of wind entering the small bedroom through the window, it blew out the candle, knocking it off the nightstand with a loud bang, leaving the room pitch dark in the blink of an eye.

"There goes the candle.." Butch mumbled tiredly, having been awakened by the noise. The wind howled, growing in strength, she could hear shutters hit the wall as they were moved by the strong air currents, and still dry dust sandpapering the wooden boardwalks. "Aint no rest for the wicked, huh?" He sighed. She gave no reply, her body stiffening in fear as the howling intensified, now resembling much the cries of wolves.

Curious about her silence, he turned his head to look at her, but he couldn't make out her features in the dark, only the silhouette of her fast and rapid breathing. He sighed, not really knowing what else to say to calm her. He reached up to rub his tired eyes, again forgetting his injury, and hissed in pain, cursing under his breath. "Ah can't believe ah keep forgettin' mah nose is in damn shatters." He grumbled, annoyed with himself. "Ah swear, if ah had te sneeze right now, they could repaint this whole room. Damn thing is clogged with blood, ahm tellin' ye." She remained silent, and he started to wonder if he was talking to himself all this time. "Are ye sleepin?" He asked.

"No." She spoke softly in the dark. "I'm listening to you."

"ah yea..?" He grumbled, shifting slightly. "Ye do too much of that."

When another strong gust of wind barged into the little room, it blew the nearly empty bottle of tequila off the nightstand, sending it shattering to the floor. The noise was enough to make her jump into the gangleader's arms instinctively, clinging on to him for dear life as he chuckled gruffly.

"And there goes my tequila.." He remarked dryly.

Fed up with the weather, she didn't move from her current spot, finally feeling the amount of safety she would need to brave herself through the rest of this stormy night. She waited till he would move away, scold her, turn his back to her. But he remained perfectly still. He didn't push her away, and although it puzzled her, and made her afraid to move in fear of changing his mind, it didn't keep her from huddling closer to his warm body. With her cheek pressed against his still damp shirt, she rose and fell with his calm breathing. His steady heartbeat like a beacon in the dark that seemed endless. Then finally, she detected movement. He shifted, bringing the arm that had been laying across the pillows, around her shoulder, bringing her closer.

"Alright, little miss shark.." He sighed gently. "You win."

In the far distance, too far to frighten her, she could hear the rumbling of the thunder clouds, chased across the desert by the strong wind. Feeling empowered by the gangleader's permission, she moved her arm across his chest, holding on to him like a child, her weight against him. He gave no reaction, but he was wide awake, she knew he was.

"Try te get some sleep.." He mumbled. She nodded, feeling weary from the interruptions. He was still staring at the wooden ceiling when he felt her body relax against his own.

R&R!


	23. Chapter 23

**To Voldemort: You do realize I get emails that start with "You have recieved a review from Voldemort" Don't you? You know, if my name was Lucius Malfoy, I'd be sincerely worried. Just kidding, I love your support.**

 **A very Merry belated Christmas to all my dear readers, reviewers and followers! We shall see eachother again in the next year! May this story bring you all the joy in 2017 as I hope it did in 2016.**

 **With love,**

 **Your ever humble and grateful writer,**

 **AshtonCat**

 **Chapter: 23**

She didn't want to wake up. In sleep, she didn't feel the reality around her, and wasn't reminded of her current situation. Travelling with a gang of wanted criminals, while being hunted down by both Rangers and railroad agents, of which neither had good intentions. When she was a little girl, her grandfather told her stories about a knight saving a princess from a giant dragon, sleeping on a pile of jewels and gold. He had described the sleeping dragon as a heavily breathing, slumbering monstrosity, its long horned tail covered in scales, and wrapped around its treasure. Tonight she dreamed of it again. How often had she tried to picture that dragon, the way it smelled, the sounds it made as it slept. She could hear it now again, inhaling softly, its chest moving, and exhaling again, breathing out smoke and giving out a low growl, as if it snored. As she slowly started waking up, her mind seemed to hang on to her dream, the sounds of the dragon remained. She could have sworn she could feel it breathe, its weight against her back. Dragons did not exist, she reminded herself sternly. And it wasn't a dragon that had wrapped itself around her, had its chest against her back, and made the sounds of her childhood stories. It was Butch, still deep asleep, completely unaware of her opened eyes.

They had clearly moved during the night, rolled onto their sides, his mangled face buried in her long hair, making it dance every time he exhaled, like the breezing beast in her grandfather's bedtime stories. And like the dragon with its treasure, the outlaw had wrapped himself around her slim frame, one leg around hers, she could feel the heavy, damp material of his trousers dig into her skin. His arm had snaked its way around her thin torso, with his hand disappearing under her side that was pressed against the matrass. In this position, she was pretty sure she had the safest sleeping spot west of the Missouri river. But unlike the dragon of her grandfather's story, Butch wasn't a coldblooded lizard, and the heat of his body radiated pleasantly, almost lulling her back to sleep. With his injured face so close to her head, she didn't dare move, scared she would hurt him, and startle him from his sleep.

Everything was still around them, although morning had arrived some time ago. The only sound she detected were the desert breeds of birds announcing the time of day, while sitting on the high walls of the fort, warming up in the young rays of the new-born sun. As she listened to their chirping, other sounds submerged from the silence. Slowly, the fort awakened. First the playing of children, having finished their breakfasts, and now allowed to enjoy the deep puddles that had formed in the courtyard. Dogs, ready to join the party of frivolity that was taking place, barked in excitement, chasing chickens that had been awakened by their rooster, who in his turn, chased off the dogs threatening his harem. The noise was enough to make the dragon behind her stir slightly.

"Damn dogs.." He mumbled between her shoulder blades.

She smiled, and suppressed a chuckle. "We need to get up." She said, trying to sound serious, and sure of her decision. "I thought you wanted to leave at first light?"

"Ah guess ah missed mah chance." He grumbled, she could hear him yawn, and felt him stretch, before nuzzling back into the pillow they were sharing. "Ah aint all there, ah think. Got mah brains shaken up pretty good." He continued, and sighed heavily. "Mah head hurts.."

She frowned in worry and sympathy, and reached up to pat his arm that was wrapped around her. "Then we'll rest for a little while longer. Until it subsides a bit." She suggested kindly. He didn't answer. "You probably drank too much as well." she teased. Now he chuckled softly into her hair.

"Probably.." he mumbled.

She was silent for a moment, absentmindedly stroking his arm with her fingertips, her need to touch him when he was suffering resurfacing, although she hardly realized it. "Thank you for staying with me last night." She whispered softly, mindful of his throbbing head.

"Now ye can tell yer future husband ye slept with Butch Cavendish." He joked. Mocking offense, she hit his arm, causing him to jump slightly, and chuckle teasingly.

"I thought you were sick and in need of rest." She scolded.

"Ah've never been sick enough te lose mah sense of humour." He explained. "Don't be cross with me, Sharky.. come on now." He huddled closer to her back, enjoying her softness, her intoxicating scent. "Ye just make me feel better, that's all." He admitted.

She blushed at his small confession, and cleared her throat nervously. Whatever moment they were sharing right now, entangled like lovers, she wasn't sure she was to believe all of it. But he seemed blatantly unaware of the internal chaos he caused her, for moments later, his breathing evened out, his body relaxed against her, indicating he had fallen asleep once more. She resumed the gentle caressing of his arm. He had made her feel safe last night, allowing her to lay in his arms like a small child, she was pretty sure that privilege wasn't bestowed on many others. So she would do the same for him now, and not move away until he felt better.

 **llllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll**

Ten miles from the gate to the secluded fort, five horsemen stood tall in a line blinking against the sunlight. Four of them wore bowler hats, one of them a shabby, worn Stetson. Brushing off the desert dust from his fine black coat, the smallest of the men, although atop the largest horse, made a small noise that was supposed to voice his mild surprise.

"Well, golly gee.." Elton sneered mockingly. "The place actually exists."

Evans turned to him slowly, his thick eyebrows almost covering his deep set, blood shed eyes. "What te hell were ye thinkin'" He growled. "Course it exists. Does a hell of a lot more than just existing too."

"You know, if I didn't know how much you were getting paid for getting us here, I'd think you still admire the whole thing, Evans." The short man shot back at him. Evans said nothing in return, and rolled his shoulders angrily.

"Is Cavendish in there?" One of the gruff looking hired guns said, speaking to Elton's back. "Ah say we go in there, throw him off a wall, and get the hell out of this nightmare."

Taking his time, Elton rummaged through his fancy coat pockets, pulling out a pair of fine looking white, kid gloves. "Not so fast, Wickens." He spoke calmly, pulling on the gloves with great care, like he was readying himself for a formal dinner party. "If you want to catch a sleeping chicken, you don't wake it up first." He fidgeted around with the fingers on his gloves until they were positioned right. "Besides.." He continued, buttoning the gloves at the wrist. "Mister Cavendish is worth more to us alive. And people tend to die when you throw them off a wall, Wickens." He turned to give the hired gun a bored smile. "You knew that, didn't you Wickens?"

Wickens didn't respond, and just gazed back at his boss impassively, probably wishing the man a most painful death.

"I'm going to assume you knew that." Elton continued, calm as ever, and turned his view back to the fort. "But in case you forget about it once we're in there, I think it would be best if you stay here." He explained, taking out his golden pocket watch to look at the time. "If we're not back within one hour from now, I want you to return to Colby, and give the location of this place to Mister Cole. In other words, you are our safety net, Wickens." He tossed the golden watch at the hired gun, who barely caught it mid-air. "Understood?"

Looking quite annoyed with his new task, Wickens grumbled under his breath, stuffing the watch away, and reached into his saddle bag to take out his pipe. He was going to be here for a while anyway.

"Jolly good." Elton said, urging his horse forward. "Onwards, gentlemen." In company of his other two men, and Evans, they approached the fort in a slow trot.

 **Lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll**

She had fallen into a light slumber soon after him, his gentle breathing presence emptying her mind of every worry and sorrow hovering above her head like the sword of Damocles. The joyous sounds of the awakening fort, now familiar to her ears, continued in the background. She smiled when she recognized Frank's voice in the courtyard, now like hearing a friend arriving at her front door. But he appeared to be panicking over something, informing whoever was willing to listen, about something she couldn't decipher.

"Frank sounds worried.." she said. For a moment it didn't seem her words had reached the dragon, but then he stirred and let out a slow, tired sigh. "It's too early for Frank.." He mumbled.

Smiling to herself, she gently lifted her head from the pillow, using both ears to listen to the young outlaw's panicking words. Other voices had joined his, and she could hear men run across the courtyard, stepping into puddles in their hurry. "Something is going on." She stated. "Maybe I should go have a look."

He wordlessly removed his arm from around her waist, and untangled his leg from hers, allowing her to move away. She sat up slowly, her back stiff from the old matrass. But after having slept on a saddle blanket for days, it felt like sleeping at the Hilton. She turned to look at the still weary gangleader, who gave her a lopsided smile, peering up at her with tired eyes.

"Are you feeling any better?" she asked softly. He closed his eyes again, his smile not leaving as he shook his head a little. "Well, just rest here then. I'm going to see what all the fuss is about." She told him, sliding off the bed. A shiver ran through her spine the moment her bare feet touched the cold, wooden floor. She rubbed her arms as she made her way over to the window, to peer outside into the courtyard. There was a group of Rosa's guards, armed to the teeth, conversing with eachother in a language she did not understand. She turned to the doorway when she heard footsteps run up the staircase.

A wild eyed Rosa pulled away the faded curtain and stepped into the room hastily. "You need to go!" she announced, bending down to pick up Butch's boots, throwing them at the unmoving outlaw in the bed, who didn't seem fazed at her rude intrusion. "Ahora, Cavendish! Get up!" she called out exasperatedly, clapping her hands close to his ears, and pulling away the blanket that covered him. "Andale!"

He growled, tossing a pillow at her angrily. "Git out! The hell is wrong with you?!"

She dodged the pillow, getting more furious by the minute. "They're coming, you fool! They're visible from the wall! Your horsemen! You need to go!" she looked at Eleanor, who had a look of pure fright on her face. "You both need to go!"

"What horsemen?" Eleanor asked, her eyes switching between them.

With impressive speed, Butch jumped out of bed, looking around for the rest of his clothing while holding his snake leather boots against his chest. Tripping over an upturned chair, he roughly pushed Rosa out of his way as he collected his waistcoat and jacket from the floor. If the Spanish woman was offended, she didn't show it, her gaze resting on the young girl instead.

"All five of them!?" Butch called, slipping into his torn coat on his way down the staircase, almost tripping over his own feet.

"Four.." Rosa corrected him, still gazing at the girl by the window, rubbing her arms nervously. She clicked her tongue, approaching her in a gentle manner. "He did not tell you, did he?" she asked. "Last night, when he returned, he told Ray he spotted five horsemen on the trail here."

Eleanor felt her stomach turn in fear, and gazed at the fort's matron like a deer in headlights. "But.. but he told me they cannot find this place. Law men don't know this place, do they? He told me so himself!" Rosa placed her slender hands on the panicking girl's shoulders, silencing her gently with a stern look.

"Tranquilo." She instructed. "You're right, no law men knows the exact location of this place, but that bastard Evans has lead them here." From the open window, Butch could be heard barking orders at the rest of his gang. Horses were taken from their stables and saddled in a hurry. Guns were readied by the bandits manning the high walls. "Look at me." Rosa instructed the girl sternly, drawing the young lady's attention away from the window. "You're going to be alright." She told the frightened girl. "I promise you." Eleanor nodded, wide eyed and partly hyperventilating. Rosa's hands left her shoulders. "Get dressed and get your horse ready." She told the girl, and turned on her heels.

Down in the courtyard, the horses belonging to Butch's gang were saddled and ready, awaiting their riders who were still readying their guns, preparing for a fight. Rosa's guards ran across the balconies, taking their positions with their rifles at the ready. The whole fort seemed transformed. What was usually a place of relaxation and entertainment, now seemed to be the military facility it was originally build to represent. The women on the balconies however didn't seem impressed, and were still hanging over the railings, curious about all the commotion.

With a handful of her skirt, Eleanor made her way down the creaking staircase. Still tying her hair up, she ran into the stables, bumping into Frank who had saddled her horse for her and was on his way out to get her.

"Morning, miss Hartley!" he called out happily, while she regained her balance from their collision. Her little grey mare had colourful paint marks on her muzzle, and eagle feathers had been braided into her black manes. Observing the decorated animal, Eleanor took the reins from the young outlaw with a puzzled expression. "Ah thinks the Injun lady did this." Frank continued, following her gaze. "Is gonna be all gone when it starts raining."

The old horse received some looks of ridicule once it was being lead out of the stable. Like she and the relic of an animal she rode wasn't amusing enough already, she now received some snickering from the criminals on the balconies as well. Trying to ignore it as best as she could, Eleanor lead her horse to the rest of the group, awaiting instructions from a restless looking Butch.

Rosa joined them soon after, her long hair covered in a bright coloured shawl with tassels. In her native tongue, she called out her orders to the men on the balconies, before coming to a halt next to Butch. "Who are these people?" she asked him, her hands in her sides. He didn't respond, his mind elsewhere. "They aren't with the law, are they?" she pressed on, but still she received no answer. "Respondeme, Cavendish!" she slapped his shoulder impatiently. "Who did you bring to my gates, ha?! I deserve to know!"

"Mercenaries." Butch grumbled. "Hired by the railroad to get rid of that girl, and get my bounty while they're at it. Ahm pretty sure that was the agreement. Be damned if they do it for the sake of progress." He chuckled joylessly, shaking his head. "Nah, they're here for her. Ah half expected them Rangers to be ridin' with em, but they must have been send on a different trail. Guess they don't want no audience." He shifted his weight in uneasiness, feeling Rosa's sharp hazel eyes burn into the side of his head. "Evans knew exactly where I'd hole up with that girl. I wonder what kind of money they promised him for this."

Rosa had obviously heard enough, for she turned away from the outlaw sharply, pacing around in slight panic while muttering her frustrations in Spanish. The rest of the gang mounted slowly, knowing they were close to the moment of departure, yet none of them seemed to know what the exact plan was going to be. With Frank's patient assistance, Eleanor climbed into the smooth saddle of her decorated mare, shifting slightly in the leather to get comfortable. With his back to them, Butch still seemed to be contemplating the next move.

"Ye think ye can delay them long enough fer us to get te Eagle Pass?" He asked Rosa, peering over his shoulder at the fuming woman. She halted, giving him a wild look, like a cornered animal.

"Eagle Pass?!" she barked. "You want to drag that chica through the mountains?!" she barked, making a wild hand movement toward the girl in question.

He made a face. "What mountains?! Ye people here south of the damn border call every Goddamn hill a mountain!" Yet he didn't seem sure of it either, and looked around, like he expected the right answer to be written on one of the walls of the fort. Ray decided to contribute to the conversation.

"They got te us this far, they'll follow us up the pass too." The old cowboy grumbled, not exactly motivating the rest. "We can split up." He suggested. Now he seemed to have caught Butch's attention, as the latter turned to him slowly, his heels digging into the sand and gravel. He tilted his head at the oldest member of his gang, urging him to voice the rest of his idea.

"Ah'll take Skinny and Jesus with me. Barret goes with Frank, and you take that gurl fer yer account. We'll take em out one by one on the trail. Keep the horses. Meet up at Pine's Creek and continue from there." Ray continued.

Still staring at him, Butch seemed to consider it. "Three days ride from here." He concluded, travelling the route inside his mind, calculating the estimated time of arrival. "Two more ways te get there.." He continued, narrowing his eyes in concentration. "Ye take the East trail ye get all the snow and trees, not easy to follow."

Ray nodded. "Yer best choice right there. But that Elton aint no fool though." He argued. "He wants that girl, he'll go after her."

Butch turned to look at Eleanor atop her horse, his eyes switching from her to Frank, still standing next to her with his hand on her horse's headpiece. "Yea.." the leader mumbled, smiling lightly. "Unless he takes er fer someone else." He decided. "Frank! Take off yer clothes."

Looking quite shocked, Frank stared at his leader, his face growing pale. "Right.. Right now?" He asked, looking at the giggling girls on the balconies. "In front of all these gals?"

"Ye aint got nuthin' they haven't seen before, boy!" Butch growled impatiently, walking up to the wide eyed young outlaw, who almost took a step back as his leader approached in a threatening manner. "Ah have te ask twice?!" Butch barked, causing Frank to quickly reach for his boots, taking them off clumsily.

"Ye too, Sharky." Butch continued, giving Eleanor a sly look. "ye and Frank. Switch clothes. Now." The gang leader received much of the same look from the girl as he had received from the youngest member of his gang, but she knew better than to argue, and slid off her saddle slowly. Rosa clicked her tongue in annoyance and moved past a still smirking Butch to lend a hand to the scared girl.

"Dios mio, Cavendish!" She growled, wrapping her arm around Eleanor's shoulders. "If you want her to do it right in front of you, you better learn how to beg for it. Come Chiquita, I got you." She led the girl away, to the stables, where more privacy was provided. Frank followed closely, not daring to make eye contact with a slightly disappointed, and humiliated, Butch.

They both occupied a stable, with Rosa quickly helping the girl out of her stained day dress, and the chemise underneath. Shyly, Eleanor rubbed her bare shoulders, and watched how Rosa rolled her clothes into a ball and tossed them at a shirtless Frank, who caught one piece mid-air, and had to dug for the rest. He shared his stable with three small donkeys, and they seemed more than willing to help him undress and eat his clothes in the process too.

"I'm not sure I understand what the plan is." Eleanor peeped carefully, peering up at Rosa. "Would someone like Elton be that easily fooled by a change of wardrobe?"

Catching Frank's shirt and trousers with ease, Rosa handed her piece for piece, waiting for the girl to pull them on before answering. "I expect Cavendish to know what he's doing." She remarked coldly. "If not I'll feed his cojones to the dogs." She helped the girl button up the shirt with her skilled fingers. The sleeves covered her hands, since Frank was slightly taller than herself. Rosa rolled them up roughly and impatiently.

Now dressed, Eleanor turned to look at Frank, and couldn't help but giggle at how he looked in her old dress. "Do my shoes even fit you?" she asked. He looked up at her with a bright smile, and heaved up his leg to show her one perfectly fitting shoe.

"Ah had te give the laces a little more room but.. ah thinks it's alright." He remarked. One of the donkeys got hold on the hem of his skirt and pulled, causing Frank to almost fall over. Eleanor laughed. "Don't tear that!" He called out, pulling back, but the donkey didn't let go. "It aint mine, mister Donkey!" Even Rosa chuckled, and said something in Spanish that made herself laugh, but neither Eleanor or Frank understood.

After successfully swapping clothes, they made their way back into the courtyard, where Frank was greeted with cruel catcalling and whistling from the guards and girls on top of the balconies. But he didn't seem very upset with their teasing, and braved himself through his walk of shame with his chin held up proudly. Someone tossed him a faded looking bonnet and he wasted no time to put it on his head.

As Eleanor approached Butch, she noticed he held both his own and Frank's horse by their reins. Her own little mare flanked Barret's much bigger black stallion. She suddenly understood what was expected of her, and froze in fear, feeling Rosa press against her back, urging her to move.

"I cannot ride Frank's horse." She protested. Butch tilted his head at her, a tired look on his face. He wasn't in the mood for negotiations, and his eyes told her all about the limits she better not cross right now. As Frank caught up on his leader's latest idea, he quickly came to her side to offer his support.

"Bobby is goin' te take real good care of ye, miss Hartley." He smiled. "Ah knows he will. He likes ye."

Eleanor shook her head frantically. "I can't even ride that little mare properly!" she gazed at Butch, pleading for help, but he didn't move.

"Evans knows ah gave his horse te ye." The gang leader told her calmly. "Ye ride yer little Paluxy, it's gonna take one second fer him te figure out ye aint Frank."

Eleanor frowned. "I thought you assumed Evans to be a complete idiot." She shot back. "Would he really be smart enough to make that connection?"

"If he aint, then yer friend Elton is." Butch barked, throwing Bobby's reins to her. "Git on te damn horse, Sharky. No more talk." With that, all had been said, he turned toward Ray and Barret to discuss a few more things, and all she could do was rest in her fate.

"Ahm gonna take good care of Little Paluxy." Frank assured her gently. "Ah wont ride her too hard, and ah'll make sure she grazes and drinks enough. Ah promise ye." It wasn't exactly what she worried about. She knew Frank was good with horses, whatever horse it was.

A guard manning the walls, called down to Rosa in his native language, and for the ones that understood Spanish, it was the cue to climb into their saddles. Butch turned to Eleanor and the fort's matron, his swaying steps toward them revealed he wasn't too excited to share his plan with them. "Tahm te go, Sharky." He said to her, and looked at Rosa. "Why ye look ready te slap me, don't ye?"

Rosa huffed, and folded her arms across her chest. "It is against my own will to give up a woman once she took refuge here." She hissed at him. "And I'm not convinced going with you is the best option for her. In here, I know what can be expected, I know how to protect her. What is out there?" she made a hand movement toward the back gate. "Something hunts her, Cavendish. You know how to kill, but do you know how to save a life? I am not sure." She swallowed thickly, tightening her grip on the young girl.

Butch didn't respond, and shifted his weight in uneasiness as he looked down at Eleanor. "Say yer goodbyes." He instructed her. She was going to give Rosa a hand, but the woman insisted on a fierce hug, like she was convinced they would never see eachother again.

"God be with you, Eleanora." She whispered in the girl's ear. As she pulled back, both their cheeks were covered in tears, and Rosa wiped them away roughly.

"Thank you for everything." Eleanor spoke shyly, not really knowing what to say. Rosa smiled and took both of her hands in hers.

"Your life will be nothing like my life." The woman started, looking down at her olive skinned bare feet in the sand. "You will have a good life. And we're all going to do what we have to do." She looked up at Butch sharply. "For once." As she let go of the girl, Butch made a hand movement that told her to leave them alone, and Eleanor was more than happy to grand these two old friends their privacy.

"Ye never cried when ah left." Butch said smugly, out of hearing range from everyone else. Rosa regarded him coldly, still sniffling and wiping away tears.

"You don't deserve my tears." She shot back. "Or hers."

"Goddammit, Rosa. Why always the hostility when ah leave? Ye aint happy when ah come, ye aint happy when ah go." He complained. "Ah can't make ye happy, can ah?"

She scoffed. "Is that what you're trying to do?"

He looked away, around the fort, the toes of his boots digging into the still soggy dirt. "Ah guess not." He shrugged. "Ye'll be alright with them agents?"

"I don't need your worry!" she spat at him. Then calmed. "I'll be fine."

"Don't kill em." Butch warned. "As much as ye'd like te do that, the fact they're comin' with four and not five means one of them is waitin' out there." He continued, his expression darkening. "Don't kill em, Rosa. Ye kill em he's goin' te ride back and get the troops, and this whole place will be cleaned out."

She rolled her eyes, straightening her back, obviously not happy with his instructions. "You behave like this is the first time I have to face people like that." She made a nod toward the main gate. "Rail tycoons. I know what they're like."

"That Elton won't stop at nuthin' te get to that girl." Butch lowered his voice even more. At that moment, a man on the wall called out the horsemen were getting close. Rosa gazed at Butch impassively. "Then I suggest you get her out of here." She said. He nodded in agreement, and took a small step in her direction, perhaps to embrace her, neither of them were sure, but she stepped back. "It was never like this." She told him. "Why start now?"

Without another word, Butch turned away from her, his expression unreadable. Rosa gave the order to open the back gate of the fort, facing East, where an unknown trail would lead them back to the border.

Eleanor and Frank had been quiet witnesses to the small interaction between Butch and Rosa, but were now forced to say goodbye to eachother, as Frank was supposed to go with Barret, and she was expected to follow Butch himself. The young outlaw seemed unsure of what to say, petting the nose of his stallion, of whom he was to say goodbye to as well.

"Guess I'll see you in three days.." Eleanor started, knowing she was going to feel lost without him by her side to keep her spirits up. He nodded a little. "Barret never aint no fun te travel with." He complained. "He don't say much. Just sits there." As Barret was standing right next to him, atop his black horse, she could see him roll his eyes.

She smiled. "I think he heard you." She giggled. "Maybe he'll be better this time."

"Maybe.." Frank shrugged, not convinced. At that point she couldn't help herself, and flung herself into his arms, hugging him tightly. She knew she startled him, but he recovered from his shock soon enough, and returned her hug just as fiercely.

"I'm going to miss you!" she told him. "Please be careful."

"Ah'll be careful." Frank nodded. "Might rip yer dress though."

She chuckled through her tears. "Don't worry about it." she turned to Barret with a pleading look. "You'll be careful too, won't you? And look after him?" For a moment it didn't seem the army surgeon would give any reply, but then he sighed impatiently.

"He'll be fine." He grumbled. "It's not exactly his first time running from the law."

It was all the reassurance she was going to get from the gruff Frenchman, and she decided to no longer pester him. It was time to mount up, and the young stallion she was to ride for the next three days, was obviously aware something was going to happen. He was restless, more than usual, and shifted his weight from one long leg to the other. He was significantly taller than her little grey mare, who was undoubtedly selected for her because of her comfortable size, and getting her foot in the stirrup was a challenge all by itself. It was Butch himself who helped her into the saddle, holding on to Bobby's headpiece and muttering words to the restless animal no one heard. Once she was seated, and the stirrups were adjusted to her height, Butch let go of the horse.

"Keep yer heels down and yer eyes on the road." He instructed her. The young animal beneath her felt like sitting on a big ball of muscles, considerably different from the passive mare she had been riding. Where Paluxy had her head down most of the time, Bobby looked around a lot, his ears going back and forth in unbridled attention. Eleanor watched the gang leader mount his own chestnut mare, effortlessly and swiftly like he was born in the saddle of this very horse, once mounted, they became one.

"Bandanas on, boys!" He instructed his gang. Scarfs and cloths were tied in front of mouths, covering half the faces of the gang. She was sure it was useless, since his eyes were so distinct, but Butch covered his own face as well, hiding his trademark scar.

It was Ray, Skinny and Jesus who were the first to take off, going North on breakneck speed. A short pause followed, in which Butch's horse started getting restless, she turned in circles and got on her hind legs in agitation. When the command was given to Frank and Barret to move out, through a small nod of their leader's head, Eleanor felt a pang in her heart at seeing the young outlaw leave. They'd be heading West, taking the desert for their account. He never once protested against serving as bait to her attackers, and rested in his fate that he would be the one to face the men hunting her, should something go wrong. A cloud of dust from the galloping horses made it unable for her to really watch them disappear, but once the sky cleared, it was just her and Butch.

A man on the high walls of the fort announced the arrival of the horsemen at the front gate, and Butch came to stand beside her. "Yer ready, Sharky?" he asked her almost kindly. Her own bandana, or rather Frank's, made it unable for her to smile in response, so she nodded, fear in her eyes. Rosa walked up to her, shoving her book in one of Bobby's saddle bags, she smiled at the girl, and gave her a wink.

"Don't forget this." She said. "You'll be fine, Chiquita." Her eyes moved to the gang leader. "I'll see you in Hell, Cavendish."

"If not today, maybe tomorrow." He told her, taking off his hat in greeting. Then he turned and smacked Eleanor's horse against its backside with his hat, causing the animal to jump forward in shock. "Heya! Come on you!" The horse laid its ears in its neck as it started running, with the girl atop clinging to his manes for dear life. "Faster!" she could hear Butch's rough voice spur up the anxious horse as he followed in close pursuit. "Heya!" They left the fort behind them, and she somehow managed to peer over her shoulder, watching its bleached walls disappear from her view.

Rosa waited till they were at a good distance before signalling the gate to close with a twirling of her finger. Smoothing back her hair and straightening her clothes, she turned toward the front gate, preparing herself to face an enemy. "Abrir puerta!" she ordered. "We shall give this Elton the welcome he deserves.."

R&R Plz


	24. Chapter 24

**Updates don't HAVE to take a month, do they? I had some extra time on my hand, and well, the great Spirit of writing granted me some inspiration. Thanks again for all the reviews! I love getting them. They never fail to brighten my day!**

 **To Lord MoldyShorts: I'd like to inform you I'm still laughing about this, and I'm not ashamed of it either.**

 **Chapter 24**

Elton entered the fort like he owned the place. Not at all impressed or intimidated by the arsenal of guns pointed at his very person, following every step he took. He rode up to the Spanish woman, awaiting him with her chin held high, proud as was in her nature, and in front of her, the nose of his horse almost brushing her face, its breath making her hair dance, he dismounted gracefully. His shiny leather boots touching the dusty ground like he had arrived on a different planet, and the dirt beneath his feet felt foreign.

He gazed at her for a while, a mocking smile slowly creeped onto his face. "My, won't you look at you." He said softly. "You know it's a curious thing." He started, folding his arms across his chest. "When I was a young man I hunted with a Spanish trapper around these parts. And I could have sworn I've seen the mythical creature of the chupacabra during one of my travels. I thought that sight was the most amazing thing I ever experienced. But here I am." He spread his arms mockingly. "Facing what might as well could be the most mythical creature of all." He approached her calmly. "Rosa de la Silva. Desert flower. Mother to all outlaws, and quite possibly.." He halted an inch from her. "the one that's going to save me a lot of work. If she is as cooperative to me as she was no doubt to her old companion and Lord knows what else.. the man I'm looking for.. Our mutual friend.. Butch Cavendish."

She stared at him for a while, her expression hard and unforgiving. Then brought her face close to his, so only he could hear her. "I won't tell you nothing." She hissed menacingly. "You want to hear it from me, you will have to beat it out of me."

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, Lord. The paperwork." He waved her words away. "I had honestly hoped we could come to an agreement without any drastic measures." He calmly removed his gloves, stuffing them in the inside of his coat pocket. "Then again, I do fear we have only so much time to spend on negotiations. So for the sake of everyone's appetite, I do feel the need to press you to come to a decision." He looked around at the armed men on the balconies, and the women standing behind them, looking scared yet defensive. "It would be a real shame if I'd have to give the order to inform the authorities about this, so mythical and infamous, a place." His eyes rested on her face again, and he smiled, wolf like, his perfectly trimmed moustache curling. "Because I have to say, I love what you've done with the place, truly the stuff of nightmares, very impressive. But I won't hesitate to uncover it all should I be forced to."

Rosa didn't stir, but her breathing had increased. "Like I said." She whispered. "I won't tell you nothing."

He gave her a bored smile, tilting his head mockingly. "well, then let me put this way." He started, talking to her like she was a child with only half a brain. "I'm not sure you uncultured swines of a people can count properly, but I have hired three men to accompany me here, including your old friend Evans, we'll get to that detail later. Yet, if you have counted correctly, which I doubt, you see I have not four but three men following me in here. Which means there's one out there waiting for me. If we don't return to this man, in one hour, he will turn his horse around, hippitihop his way back to civilisation, and tell every cavalry man and bounty hunter he encounters on his way there, the very location of your cosy little pile of filth"

She stared at him in anger, her lip trembling.

"I don't know what's worse." Elton continued, shrugging. "Handing over Cavendish, so that pray I might find that poor little kitten unscathed so I can return her to her ever so worried poor mother, or exposing this entire litter of kittens to the ferocity of the US army." He sighed in mock exasperation, waving cool air at himself dramatically. "I would truly hate to see every one of your cubs raped and locked behind bars. That's what they are to you, aren't they? Kittens and cubs. You take such good care of them." He sniffed, badly faking his distress. "And what would become of you? Or your..son?"

She paled at the mentioning of her own child, and swallowed thickly. No one knew about his existence, outside the people living inside the fort. Her eyes rested on Evans, grinning at her wickedly from atop his horse. He had been the one to tell the world about her son. Her expression darkened. "How could you.." she hissed at Evans. "You animal!"

Evans spat on the ground. "Ye called that one out upon yerself by kickin' me out of this place." He growled. "Ah warned ye, ye goddamn slut. Ah warned ye not te mess with me."

Elton shushed him quickly. "Well, I am so glad to be a witness to this tearful reunion, and I promise you both there will be enough time to exchange memories once we're done. But for now I must ask you to focus on the matter at hand." His words slowly forced Rosa's eyes to rest on his again, tears rolling down her cheeks, but she shook her head defiantly.

"Go to Hell." She hissed at him, and spat in his face, hitting his round spectacles. Elton didn't move as the drop of saliva slowly dripped down the smooth glass. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a fine handkerchief, and took his spectacles off his nose.

"How truly unfortunate." He remarked dryly, cleaning his glasses, clearly unfazed. He took his time, and once they were properly cleaned, readjusted them and turned to his henchmen. "Find the boy." He instructed. The two mercenaries dismounted.

"No!" Rosa screamed, and made a move toward the short man, about to wring his neck. But she was quickly stopped by two of her girls, who grabbed her arms, holding her back for her own good. They whispered words of comfort to the frantic woman who had been a mother to them for so many years, while she struggled to break free. "No!" The men started their search in the rooms on the ground floor, upturning barrels, crates and baskets. Chickens hurried out of the mudstone apartments, followed by the contents of several drawers.

Elton ignored the panicking mother, and turned his back to the women, gazing up at the armed men on the balconies. "I have no quarrel with any of you." He told them. "In fact, I have a proposal for you all to listen to." He rummaged through his pockets and held up a rolled up stack of dollar bills. "The railroad promises an additional 1000 dollars to Cavendish' already existing bounty, to the outlaw that brings him to me!" He turned around slowly, so every man on the high walls could see him, but none of them moved. "My, my aren't you all a loyal pack of sheep? A 1000 dollars on top of his bounty, and clearance of all wrong doing! In essence, gentleman, you bring me Cavendish, and I'll turn you into a free and wealthy man." Now looks were exchanged among the criminals. "Come on now." Elton pressed, smiling wickedly. "Are you all scared of old Cavendish? Most of his history is just old wives' tales, you know. Not much of it is true." He shrugged, stuffing the money away. "He's a mere product of good propaganda."

"Then how the hell did his bounty get that high?!" One of the criminals called down from the wall. A wave of mumbling and chuckling arose among them.

Elton rolled his eyes. "Why on earth would you care? All it matters is that the railroad promises clearance and 6.000 dollars to the man catching him.. alive." The muttering continued. "And the girl, of course. I know she was here. We have some business to arrange with young miss Hartley, I would very much appreciate her safe return."

"And what do we get if we get her to ye alive?" the same criminal asked.

Elton rolled his shoulders, smiling softly. "A firm handshake.." He said. "But I bid you all to atleast try to make it look like an accident." The outlaws exchanged more looks. The fact Eleanor had no bounty could either mean two things. She never did anything wrong, and there was no reason to put a price on her head. Or no one cared about her safe return at all. And it didn't matter whether she lived or died. As double as the agent's explanation was, some of the criminals had clearly made up their mind and started descending the wooden staircases that lead into the courtyard. Horses were saddled and belongings were gathered. Some took off within minutes.

In the meantime, Rosa's son had been successfully located, and was now dragged into the courtyard by his arm, by one of the mercenaries. The young boy struggled and cussed, kicking at the man's shin, but the man didn't let go, and the boy was brought to Elton, who studied the child as if he were a rare creature.

"The resemblance is truly uncanny." Elton remarked, giving Rosa meaningful look, she gazed back at him, her eyes spitting fire. "Does he even know?" she didn't answer, and looked away. "I probably wouldn't have told him either had I been you." Elton continued. "For all we know he could entertain the fancy of devouring his own offspring."

"You bastard!" Rosa hissed at him, struggling to break free. The two mercenaries had taken her from the two girls that had tried to restrain her. They had been roughly pushed aside seconds earlier. "You hurt him and he will come after you, and no one will be able to protect you!"

"Oh, I highly doubt that." Elton sighed, cleaning a sharp bowie knife with his handkerchief. "I do not expect Cavendish to be harbouring any paternal feelings for this child or any other he sired across these parts. No, my dear. I think I can pretty much do whatever I please." He twirled the knife around in his hand. "Besides, all I need to know is where they went."

Rosa shook her head, furious. "I rather die!" she cried at him.

The agent tilted his head at her. "I'm not sure you understand the situation." He looked down at the boy. "You wouldn't be the one doing the dying."

As Rosa's face paled at the frightened look in her young child's eyes, Elton kneeled down in front of the boy, the tip of his knife resting lightly against the child's soft skinned cheek. "Where did they go, Rosa?" Elton asked, staring into the boy's blue eyes, he was trembling, whimpering. "Tell me."

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Bobby could outrun the faithful Annabel, and did so on Butch's command. The girl found herself riding ahead, the horizon in front of her. To her, it seemed like they were heading toward a vast open space of nowhere. But Butch's voice kept urging, calling out to her horse to keep going on full speed. She feared her mount would give out. The young horse snorted in agitation, foam covering his bridle, but Butch showed no signs they were about to stop. The terrain changed underneath their feet, plucks of courageous desert grass poked out from beneath the sand. The rocks became bigger, sturdier, causing her horse to trip now and then, but never lose its footing. In front her, the peeks of the mountains appeared, growing taller as their distance narrowed. Butch came up to her, his own horse exhausted.

"Ye go ahead. Up the pass. Yer horse gives out ye get off and hold on to his tail!" He stopped, disappearing from her view. In panic, she pulled the reins as hard as she could, urging Bobby to come to a breezing halt. "Ah said ride on!" Butch called out to her angrily.

"But I don't know the way!" she protested. "What's going on?"

Butch took out his revolver, and cocked it while scanning the area they just came from. "We're being followed." He said. "Ah'll catch up with ye. Go!"

She tried to follow his gaze, a cloud of dust arising from the trail that lead them here. "Can they catch us?" she asked fearfully.

"Oh yea." He told her. "Now go! Give him yer spurs, come on!"

Suddenly reminded she was wearing Frank's boots, she dug the iron spurs into Bobby's flanks, sending him flying forward. She looked over her shoulder at Butch, his horse turning in agitated circles as he awaited the unfortunate soul that had decided to track them here. Her attention was brought back to the road ahead as Bobby started slowing down and ascending the first hill, the gravel moving under his smooth hooves. She leaned forward in her saddle, grabbing on to his manes. Trying to avoid the cacti growing on the mountainside, the horse directed itself up. She had no idea how high she was supposed to go. "Come on, Bobby!" she told her mount, his ears turning toward her voice. "You're doing great!" when she was sure the animal couldn't climb any higher, she pulled the reins to stop him and got off clumsily, the loose rocks sliding away under her boots. She grabbed on to the horse, startling it in the process. He reared in uneasiness of standing on a mountainside, the ground beneath him feeling slippery to his hooves. "It's okay! It's okay!" she tried to calm him, and peered over his saddle at what was unfolding at the foot of the mountain. Butch was only a small dot, but the rider approaching him, followed by a cloud of dust, was getting closer on rapid speed.

The attacker stopped suddenly, a good few feet away from the gang leader. Maybe words were exchanged, she had no idea. But when the unknown person fired a shot, Butch did the same. Both horses reared, but only the attacker's horse collapsed completely. The man, now trapped underneath his dead mount with one leg, could do nothing but struggle to break free. Another shot was fired, and the man moved no more. She watched the scene in horror, and buried her face into Bobby's manes, trying to fight back tears of fear and helplessness.

It didn't take long before she could hear Butch's voice urging his horse up the mountainside. "Git back on yer horse!" He called out at her. She did as he asked, despite Bobby's panicking.

"We need te git goin'!" Butch passed her, his horse somehow more adapt to climbing. He leaned over to grab Bobby's reins from her and tugged her along. "Come on!"

"Who was he?" she asked, clinging on to her saddle. Butch didn't answer as he steered both horses toward the right, to a more doable path up the mountain. "Was he one of the mercenaries?" she asked again. The landscape changed gradually. Pine trees appeared left and right, sprouting out of the rocky side of the desert mountain. It wasn't until they reached a clear trail, leading up, that Butch let go of her horse's headpiece with a firm push to the right.

"Stay in front of me so ah can see ye!" He instructed crudely. A little taken aback by the tone in his voice, she nodded shyly and urged her horse to take the lead. Thankfully, they continued the trail at a walking pace, granting their animals some rest, as well as themselves. It took another thirty minutes of riding, until Butch finally broke the silence.

"It aint never just one." He started. She looked over her shoulder at the sound of his voice.

"Excuse me?" She asked, confused.

"It aint never just one that follows. Where there's one, more will come." He explained. "Ah don't think he was one of the mercenaries. Ah think ah've seen his ugly mug before. He was one of Rosa's guards. Ah guess yer friend Elton promised these boys a bunch of smackers to git out there and git me." He let out a bitter chuckle. "Ah'd like te see them try."

She said nothing for a while, and allowed the information to process through her mind. Elton might be evil, but he wasn't stupid, she knew all about that. But she had never taken him for someone that would commit such lowlife deeds to get what he wanted. "Are you alright?" She asked after a while, not daring to look over her shoulder. To Butch, the whole shootout might have been a regular day in the desert, but she didn't like seeing him wrapped in a gunfight.

"Ahm fine." He mumbled. "Ah might be a damn idiot in fistfights, but ahm still a pretty good shot. Ah guess someone should have told him that." He huffed. "They all watched me get mah ass kicked by Jed, so ah guess they all thought ah forgot how te use mah guns as well."

She smiled to herself, his lively mood comforting her, easing her fears. "I suppose they all thought you're getting old, like Rosa did." She teased him lightly.

"Ah yea? Well, she should be the last one te complain about mah age." He bragged, causing her to roll her eyes. "Ah don't ever hear Ray get this kinda shit about his years. And that old goon is a damn relic!" she chuckled at the offended tone in his voice.

"So what do we do now? Where does this trail go?" she asked, peering over her shoulder again. He gazed at her for a moment, obviously pondering on his answer.

"This here trail is gonna take us into Injun territory." He nodded to the top of the mountain. "The North side of that hill is their hunting ground." She had paled slightly at his explanation, and followed his gaze up the mountain that suddenly seemed to loom over them.

"What Indians live there?" she asked fearfully.

He tilted his head, closing one eye in concentration. "Well, that depends." He started. "last time ah got 'ere it belonged to the Apache tribes. But their lands are next te the Tonkawa's, and they tend te piss eachother off for no reason, fight like damn dogs every now and then. So it might as well belong to them now, ah don't know." He shrugged, looking at her with a sheepish grin. "Ye scared of the Injuns, Sharky?" He wiggled his eyebrows teasingly. "Scared yer gonna lose yer scalp?"

Embarrassed, she dropped her gaze. "I don't know." She answered truthfully. "Should I be?"

He shrugged again, uninterested. "Nah. If they're Apaches we might hit a rough patch along the road. If they're Tonkawa's there shouldn't be a problem. They're alright. Got some history with them Tonkawa's. They know me pretty well."

She frowned. "They know you..in a good way or in a bad way?" the question, that had meant little to her, seemed to mean a great deal to him, for his eyes met hers with a hardened look, like she had just insulted him beyond measure.

"Ah have no quarrel with those damn Tonkawa's! Do ah need te spell it out fer ye?!" He snapped, snarling angrily. "Mind yer own business. Stop prying! Eyes on the road and get movin'!"

"But I wasn't.." Startled at his sudden outburst, she shrunk a little, and decided to drop the subject and do as she was being told. Looking ahead of her, the forest surrounding them was getting thicker, and she took a moment to take in the sounds of the woods she hadn't heard in a while. Birds sung in the trees, and crickets ceased their music when they detected the vibrations of the horse's hooves as they passed by. Still climbing, the air got cooler, and she felt her lungs adjust to the cold. It was a dry, crisp chill, nothing like the damp cold she had experienced in the fort. Mountain air was supposed to be a lot better for you than the humid climate of the prairie, or so her grandfather had told her. She remembered a story from her mother, about a woman in Colby, moving to the mountains because her lungs were giving out on her. She had no idea if that woman was still alive. Or if her lungs indeed got better like the doctor had told her they would.

In these sort of moments, in which Butch proved to be a social disaster when it came to small talk, it was usually Frank who kept her spirits up with a silly comment or story. And if he was occupied, there was Skinny who always smiled brightly at her, by lack of knowing what to say to a girl. For serious questions, she could go to Barret, and if she caught him on a good day, he would grace her with an actual answer too. On bad days, he pretended she didn't even exist. She never expected her time alone with the leader of the gang to be a fun road trip, but she hadn't expected him to be cruel to her either, not after their, rather awkward, moments of intimacy they shared last night. But they seemed to be completely lost on him, and that hurt her more than she would ever admit to herself. He was right. She needed to toughen up if she was to stand a chance out here. Perhaps that would start by being honest.

"I have a confession to make." She started, not looking over her shoulder at him, half expecting him to just ignore her.

"Don't we all.." He mumbled gruffly, still in a foul mood. She sighed, this would have been easier if he had been his usual light-hearted self, but it seemed this was a part of Butch just as much as anything.

"I actually have no idea whatsoever how to handle a gun." She stated, and closed her eyes in anticipation of his reaction. "I just told you I did, because I was afraid of you."

He huffed with a half meant chuckle. "well, ah suppose that explains a lot." He grumbled. "Ye better drop that façade before it catches up on ye. Ah aint never met anyone who got better out of boasting about knowing how te handle a gun."

She rolled her eyes at his, unsurprising, lecture. "Yes, well.. I never expected this whole journey to happen when you showed up at my house. I decided to lie about it, so you would..keep your distance."

"Cuz ah was a real fright te have around while rollin' around in mah own vomit, yea, ah get ye." He bit back. Finding no sympathy, she said nothing, and regretted mentioning it altogether. "Ah guess it's just gonna be sumthin' we have te remedy then, aint it?" she didn't respond. "Anythin' else ah need te know?" she shook her head. "Ye sure?"

She turned to him sharply, glaring at him angrily. He raised an eyebrow at her haughtily, mildly amused at her indignation. "What?" He asked innocently. "Ye were on quite the little confession tour last night. Ah thought maybe they be needin' some alterations too."

"No, they don't!" she shot at him, and would have folded her arms had she not been riding a horse, and her hands were needed to hold the reins. Unlike Paluxy, Frank's horse needed guidance, and a constant reminder that he was supposed to keep moving. A short silence followed, she was fuming, muttering incantations under her breath. Until she calmed, and let out a soft sigh. "I kissed a boy when I was fourteen." She mumbled.

"What's that?" He asked, twisting his finger in his ear tauntingly, pretending to be deaf. "Come again, Sharky. Ah didn't catch that." She shot him another death glare over her shoulder, which he returned with a wink.

"I kissed a boy when I was fourteen." She said again, her eyes moving back to the road ahead of them. "Or he kissed me.. actually. I had little to do with it, and I suppose I didn't really have a say in the matter either."

He chuckled gruffly. "Then ah hope fer yer sake ye twisted his nuts in ah knot for pullin' that stunt on ye."

"Of course I didn't." she huffed. "Not everything needs a violent response."

He rolled his shoulders backwards, his back getting sore from riding. "Can't think of a better reason fer a violent response than that." He stated. "Alright, tell me.. what was yer response? Miss proper manners."

She hesitated for a moment. "Well I.. I was fourteen. Not exactly the age of possessing the wisdom of knowing what to do in such a situation." She defended herself. "I.. I didn't do anything. He came out of nowhere, and just grabbed me.. forcefully. He didn't mean any harm just.. playful banter, I suppose." Butch said nothing, and just listened. "He was one of those cowboys, you know. Cow herders. They were in town after a long journey and.. they drank a lot." She had no idea why she was defending the young man's actions right now, he had frightened her out of her wits that day, and his rude behaviour deserved punishment, or atleast correction. "There was a fair going on and I was there with a couple of friends of mine, other girls from the settlements that surrounded our farm. And well he.. he was there too and he grabbed me, pulled me into an alley, and kissed me. So there's that." She looked over her shoulder coldly. "There's your alteration. Are you happy now?"

He gazed at her impassively, tilting his head in thought, but refrained from speaking. There was no reason to answer her rhetorical question whether he was happy or not with the outcome of her story.

"I'm sure it happens to a lot of girls." She assured herself, her eyes nailed to the road again. "Colby can be quite a rough place. That why we didn't live there. That's why we lived out of town. Away from all that." His silence made her feel cornered, and she drew the conclusion he condemned the way she had reacted to the whole situation. "Don't tell me you've never done such a thing." She said bitingly.

"Ah sure aint never manhandled a fourteen year old girl." He spoke up for himself. "And how old was this addle-headed beef chasing buckaroo?"

"Older than me. By a long shot. I think he was nineteen or something?" She answered. He clicked his tongue in displeasure, but said nothing. "Should I have been more angry?" she asked carefully. "What would you do? Alert the sheriff? Mister Reid is too busy for things like that. They happen all the time. Don't they?" she looked over her shoulder at him with a pleading look. "Don't they?"

"Sure, Sharky." He told her after a short silence. "No big deal." He averted his eyes from her face in uneasiness. "We should get ourselves a place to camp for tonight. We're losing the light." He urged his horse forward, passing her, and taking the lead instead.

R&R please!


	25. Chapter 25

**TeiyusTeki:**

 **1: Old…Married…Couple..**

 **2: Every self-respecting western story needs a good suave asshole, don't you think? Thank you for your compliments! As much as we're all supposed to hate him, Henry Elton is so much fun to write with.**

 **Thanks for all the reviews, favs and follows!**

Chapter 25

Only white men make a fire everyone can see. She clearly remembered her grandfather's words about campfires. Taught to him by the Apache man he travelled with a long time ago, long before her grandmother came into his life. And so, whenever Eleanor joined her grandfather on his annual coon hunts, every spring, she watched in amazement as he build them a campfire so smoke free and low to the still cool ground, no one would ever notice they had been there. Little ashes was found when morning came, but it had kept them warm throughout the night anyway.

And now, she was staring into the same low burning flames she remembered from her childhood, from her fond memories of spending time with her grandfather out in the vast open spaces of the prairie, where he taught her to navigate by the stars. Butch had built the same Indian fire. To remain unnoticed in a land not his own. Shortly after setting up camp, giving her both Bobby's and Annabel's saddle blankets to sit on, the gang leader had left her to collect their supper in the breaking light of the fading day. Surrounded by the calmly grazing horses, making their gentle, breezing munching sounds as they roamed around the campsite freely, she found time to think, and take out the book Rosa had given her.

She used to love books, devouring every novel Colby's general store had lying about. But now the words she read, and tried to store in her mind, seemed lost to her. Somehow they didn't stick, and every line had to be read atleast three times before she understood what they meant. Her mind was distracted. Torn from the ability to escape reality to wonder around in a world of imagination. Something snapped behind her, and she quickly looked over her shoulder, into the pitch dark of the surrounding forests, only to hear the sound again, and never able to see where it came from. But the horses seemed undisturbed, and so she trusted it was nothing worth worrying about. Giving up, she shoved the faded book back into her saddle bags, and decided to listen to the sounds of the woods instead, making them her own. She scanned their little campsite, quickly set up and improvised. She hadn't even noticed Butch had left his gun behind. His entire gun belt, bullets and all, placed over his saddle carelessly.

She blinked in confusion. Apparently he considered himself skilled enough to go out hunting without a gun. She hesitated, then reached over to slowly wind her fingers around the faded wooden grip of the old revolver, pulling it out of its black, leather holster carefully, gingerly, like she expected the weapon to go off out of nowhere. It felt heavy in her small hand, her wrist protesting against the weight it was forced to carry. She didn't know if it was loaded or not, and she had no idea how to open the chamber to count the bullets. Now holding the worn out gun in both her hands, one around the grip, the other supporting the haggard barrel, she studied it in the fading light of the low burning campfire.

Her mother always did the shooting. Her two barrelled shotgun locked in a case in her bedroom, only to be taken out when coyotes threatened the chicken pen, or when rabbits needed to be killed for supper. The rancher's wife had forbidden her husband to teach his daughter how to handle a gun, and so, the young girl was left unable to defend herself now. She wondered if Butch was ever planning on teaching her how to use it. Or maybe, like with most things she had encountered on her travels so far, she was supposed to teach herself. Slowly, carefully, she cocked the gun, making it click four times before locking. Click C. click O. click L. click T. The only revolver to reveal its maker by the sound it made when you cocked the hammer. She aimed at the black wall in front of her, beyond the campfire, pine trees and thick woods surrounding her. She inhaled slowly, her breathing shaky, before exhaling white ghosts of cold fog. Her hand trembled, the gun too heavy, so she placed her other hand underneath the grip, to steady the weapon as she aimed it at the darkness. She wound her trembling finger around the smooth iron of the trigger, feeling her heart beat in her throat. It was as if the forest held its breath for what was about to come, for the sounds had died away. The crickets had ceased their song, and the wind made the tree tops move no more. This gun had ended countless lives. She wasn't aware of how many, and she would never dare ask, but it felt like holding a number of souls in the palm of her hand that would never be given back. Yet, she felt like pulling the trigger, like something whispered in her ears to just do it, all it took was a little twitch of her finger. She moved the trigger toward her for half an inch, the iron material loose in some places. Everything else seemed forgotten, every other sound had disappeared, and all she saw was the front sight at the end of the barrel, pointed at the vast black unknown beyond. She didn't even realize she had gotten up from the ground, standing on top of her horse's saddle blanket.

"What ye aimin' at?"

She jumped at his voice, giving out a probably pathetic sounding shriek, as she spun around to basically bump into Butch's chest. He had been standing right behind her, curiously peering over her shoulder to detect what she had decided on that needed killing, and he had done so without making a single sound. "Holy mother of Jesus!" she called out, stepping back from him, a hand to her heart. "Why would you sneak up on someone like that?!" He said nothing, slightly surprised at her reaction. "I could have killed you!" she cried out, exasperated, holding up his gun.

He took it from her slowly, decocking the revolver calmly. "Yea, ye could have." He told her. "Could have killed me with mah own piece. And ah told ye how embarrassing that is." He chuckled softly. "What were ye aimin' at anyway? A suspicious looking squirrel?"

"At nothing." She stated, realizing how stupid that sounded. "I was just.. curious."

He stared at her. "About what?"

She sighed, embarrassed, and frustrated with herself. "About the gun." She explained, looking at the revolver in his calloused hands. "Your gun." She continued. "You left it behind and I.. I don't know.. I was drawn to it somehow. I can't explain it."

He nodded, toying with the weapon for a moment before opening the chamber, letting the bullets fall into the palm of his hand. "Well, next time ye get curious about guns, Sharky." He closed the chamber and tossed the gun back at her. "Make sure ye remove the bullets first." She caught the gun rather clumsily. "Ye don't want te go and make unnecessary ruckus with the Injuns nearby."

"I don't know how to do that." She stated dryly, ignoring his warning about Indians as she shoved the gun back into its black holster. "My mother forbid me to handle any weapons. If anything needed killing, she or my father, when he was still alive, would take care of it."

Butch didn't reply, and sat himself down on his own blanket, his knife between his teeth as he placed a young muskrat in front of him. She watched him skin the animal with his fast, skilful hands, placing the soft brown coat over a rock to dry. "ye ever had muskrat before?" he asked after a while.

"Well, my grandfather used to hunt them for their pelts. But he usually fed the meat to the dogs." She explained. "He said rats aren't meant to be eaten by humans."

"Damn shame." Butch mumbled, quickly setting up a spit to roast the animal above the low burning fire. "It makes fer a fine meal if yer too lazy to go out and do some real hunting like mahself." He chuckled. "Damn animals are slow as Hell, even ye could catch one. Ah might let ye do that tomorrow, if we haven't reached Standin' Faith yet."

With a slightly grossed out expression, she peered at the drying coat of fur, slowly turning the rock red with blood, shimmering in the light of the flames. "Standing Faith?" she asked. "Another outlaw town?"

He shook his head, turning the spit around slowly. "Nah, nuthin' but good Christian folks out there." He declared with a mischievous grin. "If ye know where te look."

She frowned in confusion. "And how on earth is it that you can walk into a town like that, and not get arrested?"

He chuckled darkly. "Ah wish the next coot all the luck in te world tryin' te get me arrested in that there town, Sharks. Ain't no Sheriff gonna come out of his chair to read the law te me, for there aint no Sheriff gutsy enough te do so." She said nothing, watching the skinned muskrat being slowly turned above the crackling fire, the smell of cooked meat filled her nostrils, making her stomach growl involuntarily. "Good place to get some supplies before movin' up the plains." Butch continued, seemingly undisturbed. "We need te get ye a proper jacket or yer gonna freeze te death."

She looked up at him, suddenly feeling cold, and drew the dusty saddle blanket around her shoulders tightly together. His torn coat didn't look all that sufficient for winter either. "What about you? Won't you get cold?" He shook his head, making a face.

"Ah don't feel the cold no more." He mumbled, and sliced off a piece of meat to taste it. He nodded in agreement. "That sucker is done. Alright, git over here cause ahm not about te throw it at ye. Don't want te attract no animals by tossin' meat around the place."

She got up from her spot and sat down beside him. The place at his side warmer because of the presence of another human being. He handed her a piece of meat almost too hot to hold, and she juggled with it, blowing on her fingers until it was cooled enough to chew. Whatever her grandfather's reasons had been for not consuming the meat of the muskrats he killed, she was pretty sure they were for moral purposes, cause the taste was fine. But perhaps that was just because of her violent hunger. She gobbled away her chunk faster than the gang leader himself, and gazed longingly at the rest of the animal on the spit.

"Ah told ye it was good." Butch mumbled amusedly, handing her his knife. "Help yerself. Careful with that thing, it's sharp as a razor."

Albeit clumsily, she got her second piece of meat, and munched on it contently, her body finally refilled with fuel to warm up again. A pleasant heat coursed through her frozen limbs, making her drowsy. She leaned back against the same thick tree that supported Butch's back as well, her hunger satisfied. Side by side, they gazed into the flames, and listened to the fire's calm crackling. He didn't eat half as much as she did, never taking seconds, and it seemed the whole dinner party was more for her sake than his own.

"So should one of us stay awake or something? Stand watch?" she broke the silence, and at the way he jumped at the sound of her voice, he had obviously dozed off. He shifted a little, letting out a tired sigh.

"Are ye volunteerin'?" he chuckled gruffly.

"Well, I wouldn't know what to do if something would happen. I don't believe I'm much good as a night watch." She argued, feeling him roll over, his back to her as he lay down on his side.

"Get some sleep, Sharky. Nuthin' te worry about." He mumbled into his blanket. "Snakes are all asleep this tahm a year. If there was Apaches around we'd know about it already."

She wasn't convinced. "What about coyotes? Wolves?" he didn't reply. "Bears?"

"There are no damn bears in the desert." He growled. "Fire keeps the coyotes away. Ye want te stay up all night te make sure it don't go out, be mah guest. But ahm takin' the next damn dream train." The annoyance in his voice was a clear warning to her to not push it any further, and so she rested her case, despite her fear of the unknown surrounding them. She lay down, close to him, the heat of his body beckoning her close, as she was eager to get more warmth. He was out like a light within minutes, yet sleep didn't fancy taking her, and she remained awake long after the outlaw had drifted off. The sounds of the woods drew out the sound of his calm breathing, which had been the soothing rhythm that had helped her sleep the other night. But then again, locked in his arms, pressed against his chest, sleeping hadn't been that hard. It seemed so long ago now, almost a faded memory, one he obviously didn't care to rekindle. Rolled onto her back, her head resting on Frank's smooth leather saddle, she gazed up at the tree tops, her breath visible in the cool night air. She watched the moon rise until she casted her light right down upon the two people resting among the trees. With the winter stars standing watch, the girl dressed in man's clothes, drifted off to sleep.

She was roughly awakened by a hand pressed over her mouth, and Butch's gruff voice, barely above a whisper, close to ear. "Keep still." He instructed. "We got company." she had rolled onto her side in her sleep, and the gang leader's weight pressed her belly into the hard surface as he forced her to remain as still as possible. He remained there, until he felt her heartbeat slow down, her first state of shock behind her. Assured that she wouldn't give a sound, he slowly removed his calloused hand. Her eyes, still adjusting to the dark, switched from left to right, trying to see what threatened them. Butch reached for his gun, pulling it soundlessly out of its holster, and cocked it back slowly, while he peered into to blackness like an animal watching its prey.

"Ah know yer there!" Butch called into the dark. "Come out and show yerself!"

Through the smoke of the dying campfire, she watched the silhouette of a man calmly approach them. His steps were light, and soundless, like he had learned to walk by watching deer pass through the trees. As he came closer, his face illuminated by the crackling coals, his Indian features were hard to miss. His long grey hair curtained his old, gaunt face. And his eyes showed wisdom, and tranquillity, despite walking up to the barrel of a loaded revolver. He had a buffalo fur wrapped around his narrow shoulders, and seemed unarmed. Still laying on the ground, Eleanor peered up at the ancient Indian man in silent awe, and creeping fear. Their eyes met, and although he showed no emotion, she felt her heart skip a beat at his imposing presence.

"Red Elk, Goddammit." Butch complained, shoving his gun back into its holster in an agitated manner. "Ah swear te God ahm gonna blow yer brains allover the damn forest one day." He got up from the ground, brushing off the sand and twigs, and adjusted his gun belt around his waist. "Te hell were ye thinkin' sneakin' up on me like that?"

The old Indian man slowly averted his eyes away from the girl, to look at the outlaw, only slightly taller than himself. "Had I sneaked." Red Elk spoke calmly. "You would not have heard me."

Butch rolled his eyes, his hands in his sides, as he shifted his weight from one leg to the other. "Whut do ye want?"

"Men entered our lands, four days ago, killed buffalo, took pelts and left carcasses to rot. I'm looking for them." Red Elk explained with his thick accent. "I knew you would return to our lands when winter came. I have seen the signs that foretold your coming."

Looking slightly uncomfortable, Butch gazed back at the old Indian. "Ah had nuthin' te do with yer buffalo. Hell, there's easier things te kill." He growled. "And ah haven't seen any hunters passing through either. Yer barkin' up te wrong tree as usual, old man." Red Elk said nothing, and his deep set eyes slowly went back to the young woman trying to become invisible on the old saddle blanket.

"Word spread, you took a woman away from her family. I see the word was true." Red Elk stated, his voice void of any emotion despite the rather controversial subject. "It will snow soon." He continued, looking up at the sky casually, his movement slow and calculated, like his spine was made out of glass.

"We intend te be in Standin' Faith when the snow starts. Wait out the storm, continue up the plains to Pine's creek. Meeting mah men there in three days." Butch explained. "Ah have nuthin' te say about the girl." His warning glare didn't seem to faze the ancient man, and the Indian continued peering up at the tree tops, like all they were discussing was the weather.

"I remember a story of our people. About a coyote protecting a three year old child from a mountain lion." Red Elk started. "There was nothing in it for the coyote, other than the child's respect once he grew into a man." He paused for a moment, bringing his head down slowly, to gaze at the criminal once more. "What do you hope to gain out of this endeavour?"

Still trying to go unnoticed, Eleanor sat up on the blanket slowly, her arms wrapped around her knees as she studied the outlaw's curious behaviour. He was almost like a child getting scolded by his father, fidgeting with the lapels on his coat, and looking everywhere but into the old man's eyes.

"Ah good night's sleep would have been great, Red Elk." Butch sneered, kicking away a small pebble with the tip of his snake leather boots. "But ah might as well stop tryin' te get any damn peace around ere' and make some coffee."

Red Elk nodded in agreement. "Coffee would be good right now." Inviting himself to join in, he delicately sat himself down onto a rock by the fire. Eleanor felt his eyes burn into her skull as he studied her curiously. When their eyes locked, it was by accident on her part, but it seemed to be something he had been waiting for. She tried to smile, uneasily so, but he didn't return the gesture, so she dropped her gaze again, fearing she was forgetting about rules she wasn't aware of in the first place. "What do they call you?" His question was directed at her.

She cleared her throat nervously. "Eleanor Christina Angela Hartley." She summed up her complete Christian name for what it was worth. "Sir.." she added politely. He nodded, wrapped in thought, as he gazed into the burning embers.

When Butch joined them, obviously in a foul mood, he clanked down a rusty coffee pot on a flat rock, and grabbed a stick to poke up the dying fire. "Ah guess we're goin' te have a social get together over here. Red Elk, meet Eleanor, the farmer's daughter ah forcefully dragged across the prairie, or whatever the Hell it is they say ah did. Eleanor, meet Red Elk, chief of the Tonkawa's, and infamous for inviting himself to sit at campfires that aren't his."

"A campfire shared, is a campfire well used." Red Elk confirmed, nodding in agreement with himself. "This also counts for coffee."

"Ah bet it does, ye old thieving featherhead." Butch grumbled, still poking up the fire underneath the coffee pot. "Where's the rest of yer war whoopin' bush creepers anyhow? Yer gonna scare away the buffalo hunters on yer own by robbin' them off their coffee too?"

"I see you extended your knowledge on the vocabulary used to describe my people. I wonder, what else you learned during your extensive travels." Red Elk almost sneered. "If it is all this impressive, I am in for a very fascinating evening, which is something to be grateful for at my age." Eleanor couldn't help but giggle softly at the chief's sassy comeback, and received a warning glare from the gang leader, telling her to be quiet.

"Don't get cocky with me, Red Elk." Butch mumbled, pouring some of the hot, thick liquid into a cup, handing it to the old man. "Before that girl starts thinkin' ye might actually know what yer talkin' about." The outlaw handed a cup to Eleanor, who thanked him with a small smile, something that was obviously picked up by the old chief's keen eyes.

"We should cherish youth." He spoke wisely. "But trust old age." He winked at the shy young woman, and gave her the lightest of smiles, the many wrinkles in his face becoming more prominent.

"Yea well..ahm no spring chicken, chief. Ah think ah know what ahm doin'" Butch mumbled gruffly, chucking back his own cup of coffee impatiently. Red Elk seemed to think about that statement for a moment, before nodding slowly.

"Apache tribes took back the North side of this mountain last winter." The old man explained, pointing at the grey, rocky peak of the mountain, standing out in the moonlight, against a much darker, clear sky. "We have not retaken it yet." He continued. "Many of my tribesmen think I should try and take it back from the Apache, but I think, we are more benefited by peace than war." He was quiet for a moment. "And this side of the mountain is much nicer anyway. I'm sure the Apache agree. They would trade lands if I offered them. But I won't."

Butch shook his head in boredom. "Still the ramblin' old crook ye always were." He grumbled. "Some things don't change, huh?"

"It would not be wise to bring this woman into Apache territory." Red Elk said. "With only you to protect her. Unless you plan on selling her."

"Oh go chase yerself.." Butch protested, slightly offended. "Ah aint never dealt in women. There's easier things te kill, and there's certainly easier things to sell too." He chuckled.

Red Elk nodded in agreement, and took a calm sip from his coffee. "When I told my tribesmen I had seen signs of your return, and I was going out to talk to you, many advised against it." He spoke, dismissing the last subject. "They don't think an evil spirit can be reasoned with. But I think, it is better to try and speak to an evil spirit than ignore it." He gazed at the gang leader vacantly. "It might just be in need of guidance. And we should always lend guidance to those that are lost."

Butch scoffed. "Ahm gettin' so fed up with this evil spirit bullshit, ye have no idea."

Red Elk nodded again. "I know. But most spirits go through life without ever realizing their spiritual value." He explained. "It is not very hard to see. Especially not when we look at the people surrounding them. Those that are drawn to the spirits, and those that are warded off."

Butch followed the old chief's gaze to the girl beside him, slowly nodding off while her head rested against a tree, her cup only half empty. Not even the strongest coffee could have kept her awake. It was late, and she was tired, not used to travelling and living outdoors. He knew he was exhausting her, but there was no helping it now.

"She probably don't fear me half as much as she should.." Butch mumbled. "But ah owe that girl, chief."

Red Elk visibly welcomed the silence that followed, and encouraged it until he had found the right answer. "The coyote did not protect the child because he thought he owed it. He protected the child because he knew this deed would repay itself when the child grew up." He started carefully, rubbing his chin in thought. "We often mistake favours for good deeds. But only so many of them come from the heart. The ones that do, repay themselves in other ways."

The gang leader said nothing, growing weary with the heavy subject. He sighed tiredly, and leaned back against the tree, careful not to stir the girl from her sleep. "Ah was never good at deciphering yer injun bull talk.." He complained gruffly. "Knowin' ye as well ah do yer probably aint givin' me a pep talk, are ye?"

Red Elk said nothing, for everything he needed to say, had been said, and the old chief wasn't one to repeat his lessons.

"Thought so.." Butch concluded. "Alright, what do ye want me te do about those buffalo hunters of yers?"

R&R!


	26. Chapter 26

**Sorry for the late update, guys! I'm fine, no worries! Just had a lot on my mind lately. Thanks for the concern, it's very much appreciated. And of course thanks for the reviews, favs and follows! Enjoy!**

 **Chapter 26:**

She woke at the sound of an eagle, soaring high above the tree tops. His long drawn screeches announced the sight of food, or the call for a mate. She listened to him for a while, trying to find out where he was exactly. When she was sure he would show himself between the swaying tree tops, she opened her tired eyes, well timed for the bird soared right over her. She smiled at her small victory, her little game taking away the weight of reality the way books no longer could. Now the eagle had flown over, his sounds disappearing in the distance, she moved her thoughts to the here and now. It was still early, she recognized the smell of just after daybreak. A horse shook its head, making its bridle jangle like bells.

The crackling of the reawakened campfire almost lulled her back to sleep, spreading its welcome warmth. The sweet smell of smoke filled her nostrils while she attempted to stir herself from her drowsiness. Then finally after mustering the strength and willpower, she sat up slowly, smoothing back her hair as she yawned and looked around. Butch was saddling the horses, his back turned to her, and unaware of her awakening. There was no trace of the old Indian man, and for a moment she wondered if his visit had been a dream, but the area around the campfire counted three empty tin cups, betraying the chief's appearance had been real.

"Goodmorning.." she said, speaking cordially to Butch's back. He shot her a quick look over his shoulder, but then turned back to what he was doing, as if there was little time to waste.

"Mornin'" He said amusedly. "Finally decided te join the wakin' world again, huh?"

A little embarrassed, she looked away. She must have looked like a child going past its bedtime last night. Humiliating, and not to mention rude toward the Indian chief that had paid them a late night visit. "I was very tired. I didn't mean to let you do all the work. Is there anything I can do?" she let her eyes roam the campsite, but it seemed he had everything under control. He didn't answer her question either. "Where's the Indian man?" she asked, trying to remember his name.

Done adjusting the saddle of his horse, Butch turned to her. "Red Elk." He reminded her gently. "He's around here somewhere, still lookin' for those buffalo boys, ah reckon." She blinked, the memory of the conversation that had taken place between the chief and the gang leader slowly coming back to her. While she tried to remember every detail of the night before, he poured her a cup of fresh coffee and handed her the mug. She thanked him with a smile, but he refrained from returning the favour.

"I'm sorry I fell asleep." She said after the first sip, the bitter strong taste, although aiding her in fully returning to the world of the living, was unkind to her tongue. The warm mug felt pleasant to her cold hands, and she shivered lightly against a rush of cold air. The forest was cooling off at rapid speed. Winter had set in, and it wouldn't be long before the snow would start to fall.

"Ahh, don't worry about it." Butch said, waving away her worry. "It wouldn't be the first tahm that damn injun put people te sleep with his goddamn babblin'" Hesitating for a moment, he slowly sat down next to her on the blanket, letting out a dramatic, strenuous groan at bending his stiff joints. She chuckled at his antics, the comical way he had plopped himself down. "Anyways, I don't know how much ye picked up on his rattlin', but he wants mah help with those boys."

Taking another deep swig from the hot coffee, she looked at him from over the rim of her rusty tin mug. "Are you going to kill them?" she asked carefully. "I thought you weren't for hire."

He pursed his lips in thought, narrowing his eyes. "Ah make a pretty damn good navigator to ye though. Might change mah mind on the hirin' part yet and decide te charge ye fer this little road trip. How does three bucks a mile sound te ye?"

"Like theft." She scoffed. He chuckled gruffly at her answer, amused by her spunk. "There's a creek down there." he said, pointing downhill. "In case ye want te wash up er anythin'"

Where there's muskrats, there's water. She clearly remembered her grandfather's words, and they had always held truth, just like today. Now offered the chance to bathe, she attempted to wrap her mind around it, washing had seemed so insignificant the past days. She had been travelling with a group of men that didn't care about personal hygiene for so long, she had started to not care about it herself.

"And you'll be here with a set of binoculars I reckon?" she sneered. He just chuckled.

"What makes ye so sure ye got somethin' ah haven't seen yet, huh?" He sneered back. Letting out an indignant huff, she looked away from his taunting stare, there was no outsmarting him, and she didn't even know why she still tried. Sensing her defeat, he chuckled again.

"Bring yer gun when ye go down there so ye can shoot at the injuns hidin' in the bushes with their binoculars."

Fed up with his insensitive jokes, she downed the rest of her coffee, got up, and dramatically flung her gun belt over her shoulder before stomping away in anger, in the direction of the creek. The frozen leaves cracked under her boots, making a silent thread impossible. She followed the sound of the running water, while the way through the tightly packed together young trees got steeper by the minute, until she finally caught sight of the small but vastly running stream of clean water. Not exactly bathing material, but it was too cold for such a thing now anyway. A quick wash up was all it could offer, and it would have to do for now. She placed her gun belt over a wet rock and started unbuttoning her vest and shirt. While stripping down, she realized she forgot to bring something to dry off with. She sighed in annoyance with herself as she hung her, or rather Frank's, top garments on a nearby tree branch, leaving the bottom parts undisturbed. She wasn't about to go skinny dipping with the gang leader nearby. Even though he had ensured her privacy, he could be unpredictable in his ways of dealing with such matters. And so, to avoid provoking any ungentlemanly behaviour, she would be satisfied with just a quick rinse of her upper body for now.

Sitting on her knees at the water side, she cupped her hands into the stream to splash water on her face and chest. The near freezing temperature made her shiver, the tiny hairs on her arms stood up as goose bumps formed, yet the feeling of being clean again made it bearable. She rinsed out her hair as well as she possibly could, letting the long, wet strands glide through her fingers, untangling every knot they encountered. While she gazed at her rippling reflection in the clear water, the feeling that she was not alone slowly creeped into the back of her mind.

Unmoving, she let her eyes roam the waterfront in search of any life forms, only to find out she was sharing her morning drink with a lone coyote, standing on the other side, a little to her left, quenching its thirst in a calm, yet guarded, way. He seemed to have noticed her before she did him, and kept a watchful eye on her every movement while his long tongue scooped up the water. His oversized ears moved back and forth, scanning the area behind him for sounds that could betray the presence of a possible predator.

She watched the animal in silent observation, his presence calming. If he deemed this place safe enough to drink, why wouldn't she? After all, he was much better equipped to scan their surroundings than she. Somehow, they locked eyes at one moment, and she felt a shiver run down her spine noticing the animal's eyes were a sky blue, as blue as the ones she had seen in her dreams, as blue as the eyes of the man she travelled with, and unwillingly had put her trust in. She hadn't realized she had stopped breathing, and inhaled sharply as the animal licked its lips, water dripping down its snout.

"Why do you keep following me.." she asked softly, more to herself than the coyote. The animal lowered its head, staring at her curiously, like he peered straight into her soul. Then he looked at his right, up on the ridge above them, its ears moved forward in full attention. She followed his gaze. A wagon pulled by four mules slowly made its way across the ridge, three men on horseback followed in a steady pace, she and the animal went unnoticed through the thick population of pine trees on the cliff side, sheltering the stream and the ones using it. The deep wagon was piled high with buffalo hides, some still dripping blood, creating a trail easy to follow. She realized these were the hunters the old Indian man had been looking for. When she looked back at the coyote, it had vanished into thin air, leaving no paw prints in the muddy sand of the banks.

She didn't have much time to be amazed by her vision, whether it had been a real animal, or a trick of her food and rest deprived mind, it didn't matter now. She quickly dressed and ran back toward the campsite.

"I've seen them!" she called, coming to a halt next to a hunched over Butch, his hand resting on his horse's flank, like he needed something to hold onto. At first, she thought he was looking at the underside of the animal for some reason. But when she got around him, she noticed his other hand rested on his abdomen, his eyes shut tightly. "Are.. are you alright?" she asked carefully. He straightened his back immediately, his spine letting out involuntary knacks at the harsh movement.

"Ahm fine." He mumbled, panting like he had just ran a mile. "What did ye see, Sharky?"

She blinked, but decided not to push the subject, knowing him a little by now. "I saw the buffalo hunters. The ones Red Elk is looking for?" He nodded a little, gazing at her tiredly. "They're moving east, up the ridge. They didn't see me."

"We'll follow them." He said. "At a distance, slow pace. They're goin' the same way as us anyway. We'll take em by nightfall."

"Why not now?" she suggested. "And get it over with. Honestly, I don't feel much for travelling in the trail dust of some low life poachers for a whole day. If I'm going to be forced to watch these men die, then let's get it over it, please."

He shook his head. "Ah can't, Sharky. Not now." He gazed at her almost pleadingly. "Gotta take it easy right now. Ah'll put on a show fer ye tonight, ah promise."

Her worried expression made him drop his gaze, as if he was embarrassed by her concern. "What's wrong?" she asked again, pressing him despite knowing better. But he refused to let her in, and tried to move past her, halted only when she placed her hand on his arm. "Please tell me." She half expected him to snap at her, move her hand away angrily, but he didn't, and simply gazed at her wearily.

"Ain't nuthin' te worry about." He explained. "Just a cramp in mah gut. Feels like ah've been drinkin' half a gallon of ice water, er somethin'"

For a moment, all she could do was stare at him, her mind flashing back to the blue eyed coyote gulping away its thirst at the waterfront. But she shook herself out of it quickly, deeming it unworthy, not to mention stupid, to mention it. All this talk about spirits, animals and Indian medicine was altering her perception of reality. Men had gone nuts in these parts before, she knew the stories. "Well.." she started, rubbing her arms nervously. "Why don't you.. put something warm in it? Coffee or.. anything." She suggested. "That might help."

He made a face. "Do me a favour and don't mention food er drinks for a while, alright?" with that, he turned away from her, back to his horse to fasten the last strap of its saddle. Slightly taken aback by his sudden crude tone, she cleared her throat in uneasiness, and decided to see if Bobby was ready to go. They would be departing shortly, or they would lose most of the light of day during their journey. She halted seeing her mount, dressed in its bridle, but no saddle on its back.

"Ehm.." she started, looking over her shoulder. Butch mounted his faithful mare slower than usual, letting out a strenuous moan as he climbed into the saddle. "You forgot my horse's saddle." She noted shyly.

"Ah didn't forget anythin'" Butch started. "Ah want ye to ride that animal without a saddle for a while. Get used to the feel of a horse under ye." He chuckled softly at her crestfallen expression. "Ye'll thank me later, Sharky, trust me. Ah know a thing or two about ridin' horses."

"How can you expect me to.. I can't even get on up there without the help of a stirrup!" she protested in exasperation, not believing he could make this decision just like that. "How can it be beneficial to my knowledge of riding horses if I can't even get up on the horse?!"

"Ye didn't even try it yet!" Butch barked back, slightly agitated at her small hissy fit. "Ye gonna go through life sayin' ye can't do nuthin' without even tryin' first, yer gonna create so many goddamn problems for yerself all ye can do is sit in a chair and knit socks!" she was quiet, dropping her eyes to the floor like a child being scolded. "Get on the goddamn horse er ah'll make ye walk the entire damn way!" He hollered, like he was threatening one of his men. The tone in his voice left no room for negotiation, and she knew at that point it was a bad idea to keep up the argument. Right now, she was to do as she was told. Turning toward the high legged chestnut stallion, she silently wondered how she was ever going to pull this off.

"Wrap the right rein around your hand, and grab a fistful of his manes." Butch instructed in a calm voice, his anger completely forgotten. "Place yer other hand on his lower back." As she followed his instructions, she half expected Bobby to change positions, just to make it harder on her. But the animal seemed to sense her inexperience, and remained still. "Push yerself up." The gang leader continued. "Come on, put yer back into it." She was certain this was the hardest part of the whole assignment, and she attempted a pathetic little jump, landing with her stomach across the horse. Like a sheep rolled onto its back, she was stuck. "Swing yer leg over him." Butch's impatient tone didn't help either.

Feeling the horse getting restless underneath her, she lightly panicked. "He's going to run off with me like this!" she squeaked.

"He's gonna do no such thing. Get on with it now. Swing yer leg over him." The outlaw said "Steady.." He spoke to the horse, giving her time to swing her leg over the animal with the little strength she had left. Finally, her weight could be lifted from her poor stomach, and she sat up, breathing heavily, reins in hand and facing the horizon. Triumphant, she looked at Butch, who tilted his head with a sly grin on his face. "Told ye ah knew ah thing er two about horse ridin'" He pointed at the rocky trail in front of them. "That way, miss Buckaroo."

She was pretty sure her new title was given out of sarcasm. After all, a Buckaroo was a well experienced trail hand. A cowboy, living in the saddle for most of his life. But he could have chosen a more taunting name, and so she forgave him. She nudged Bobby's flanks with the spurs on Frank's boots, urging him forward in a clumsy matter. It deserved no award in elegance, but it did the trick anyway. The gang leader followed behind her in a slow walk, letting her take the lead even though she had no idea where they were going. There was no real road to follow. No path that had been previously cleared. And she wondered how Butch managed to navigate himself through the thick pine forest, in slow pursued of the hunters.

For a while, no conversation took place. Their journey spend in silence. And even though it made her feel awkward, and much like a burden the outlaw didn't feel much for carrying around, she tried to ignore it as much as possible, and occupied herself with the various kinds of trees they passed. There weren't many trees where she came from. The dry prairie didn't give much, and so, many plants not as sturdy as the desert grasses, died shortly after being planted. Her mother's endless prayers for a bountiful harvest of home grown vegetables remained unanswered season after season.

When the sun was at its highest point, and they had been riding for atleast three hours, Butch ushered his horse next to hers. She looked at him, expecting him to start a conversation, but his gaze was pointed at her leg. Growing uncomfortable with his staring, she cleared her throat.

"What's wrong?" she asked. "I know I'm riding like a sack of potatoes. This is what happens when you deny people their saddle."

"Heels down. Knees in." He started, reaching over to place his hand on her knee. He pushed it into the horse's side harshly, making her flinch. "Ye aint sittin' in yer ma's parlour, yer ridin' a horse. Heels down, press yer calves into his belly, and keep em still." She tried to follow his instructions, but only caused Bobby to let out a few agitated snorts. The gang leader clicked his tongue. "Look at me." He told her. "Look at how ahm sittin'. Ahm basically standing in the saddle. If ye think about it as standin', yer heels will go down by themselves.

She decided right there not to remind him he took away her saddle. Frustrated with the situation, she tried to mimic his position, making the muscles in her legs scream in agony at being stretched beyond their reach. "Is this really necessary?" she whined bitterly. " I know how to keep up with you, don't I? Bobby follows Annabel around anyway." His stern expression was a clear warning, but this time she wouldn't back off. "I can ride with you fine."

"Ah want ye te be able to ride without me." He argued. "Ah want ye te be able te high tail it out of here if ah tell ye to. Hell, we're about to enter Apache territory. If ye think they're all like ol' Red Elk back there, ye got another thing comin' at ye."

She said nothing, swallowing thickly at the frightening Apache related scenarios that her mind cooked up for her at that moment. He reached over to take the reins from her.

"One hand." He instructed, turning his own to show her how to properly hold both reins in one hand. "Yer gonna need te other one te hold yer gun. Ere', take em'" She took them from him, slightly embarrassed, and tried to imitate how he held them. He made no comment about it, so she assumed she did it right. "And yer movin' too much. Keep still. All ah want te see ye move while yer ridin' that horse is yer lower back, the rest keeps still at all times. Pull on the muscles in yer stomach, tighten them, can ye do that?"

Hurting herself in the process of following his instructions, she flinched, and placed her hand on her belly, now violently protesting against her usage of another set of muscles she usually neglected. But Butch nodded in agreement, and gave her a toothy grin. "Ye feel em? Ah want ye te really feel them by nightfall. Cause that's where ye'll find yer balance. Can't do any real ridin' without findin' that balance first. So train those muscles, ye'll thank me later."

He then took the lead, urging his horse in front of her, and allowing her to work on his lessons for a while. Taking all of his instructions into mind, horse riding was a very uncomfortable endeavour to her now, and she felt her body grow tired soon. There was no way she would complain to him, or ask him to slow down, or perhaps take a break because the lady was feeling fatigued. He was considerate enough, and she knew he worked hard on not being too cruel with her. So she bit her lip, got a grip, and forced herself to keep up and make the uncomfortable way of riding her own, until she no longer felt her numbed body.

Butch slowly lead their animals over the ever growing mountain, with the trail getting rockier and steeper by the minute. She wondered how a fully loaded wagon pulled by mules was able to move across a landscape like this, but the fact was they hadn't seen the sinister parade of dead buffalo in hours, and she began to wonder if the gang leader had lost their trail. As sundown set in, their long shadows followed them like grotesque looking creatures, stretched out so much they almost touched the tree tops they passed. The wind increased as they reached the top of the mountain, elevated to such height the air was as thin as paper, making breathing rather difficult. The horses grew weary from the lack of oxygen and she found herself riding beside her travelling companion, who's old mare had decreased her speed.

"Well, you have successfully managed to destroy my abdominal muscles." She whined, rubbing her sore abdomen. "But I think I got it now."

"Ye'll live.." He mumbled uninterested, shooting her a bored look. "If ah can teach Frank how te ride, ah can teach ye too."

She gazed at him curiously. "You know an awful lot about this, don't you?" she asked. "How come?"

He licked his lips in contemplation for a moment, and narrowed his eyes as he looked away from her, back to the invisible road they were following. "Ah was a cavalry captain in the war.." He stated dryly. "Taught a lot of boys how te ride back then. Goddamn runts could hardly tell the difference between the head and tail when ah started with em'. Rode like the damn Navajo when ah was done."

She listened to his story intently. He wasn't much of a sharer of details about his past life, but sometimes, snippets of the puzzle that was Butch Cavendish were handed to her. "I assume you weren't a very gentle teacher." She spoke softly, no judgement in her tone.

He blinked, and shrugged. "Ah sure didn't abide no disobedience if that's whut yer askin'"

She knew he didn't. His hold on the men in his gang was tight, he ruled with an iron fist, and was hardly ever forgiving. Anyone who decided to ignore an order, would face consequences, and they were given without mercy or respite. "It's hard to imagine you in a uniform." She joked gently, giving him a soft smile, which he returned with a rather sheepish grin.

"There's a photo of me wearin' the damn thing." He told her. "Somewhere. Ah think mah brother has it. He saved all that army shit after the war was over. Ah didn't want none te do with it no more."

Again, the mentioning of the mysterious brother he didn't want to talk about. And she wasn't going to make the same mistake twice, and inquire about the man. "Will I get to see it sometime?" she decided to ask instead.

He chuckled at her request. "Sure, Sharky. Anythin' te crack ye up, huh?" His smile faded slowly. "Ah looked a lot different back then. Ah don't think any of mah boys would recognize their ol' captain now, if they saw me."

"I don't know." She argued gently. "You have quite the distinctive face , not one you forget very easily."

"yea, yea.." He grumbled. "That scar aint foolin' no one, ah hear ye. Ah got shit over that damn cut ever since ah got it. There goes mah modellin'career, huh?"

"I was talking about your eyes." She protested softly. "Not your scar."

He said nothing, and didn't look at her anymore. His expression now hardened and as impassive as he could make it, making the world believe he existed purely out of stone, and there was no fragile flesh that could be touched, damaged, or marked. The silence was deafening, and she wondered what he was thinking about at that moment. He was hard to read, especially when he didn't want anyone to even try and decipher what was going on inside his mind.

"Did you volunteer for the army?" she asked after a while, attempting to break the thick mood.

"Ah needed the money." He shrugged. "Ah was a pretty good shot, rode well too. They made me captain pretty quickly. Ahh, it was all a bunch of bull crap if ye ask me. That whole war was just.." He shook his head, curling his nose in disgust. "Goddamn fools. Ye got them slavers down South thinkin' they can own a person. And then there's these high horses in the damn North thinkin' they can invade land and just start givin' orders. Goddamn fools. The lot of em'"

"My father enlisted as well." she said. "His family was from Virginia, so he fought on their side. Grandpa stayed with us." He didn't say anything, but she knew he was listening. "Which side were you on?"

"The one that paid the most." He stated simply, giving her a sly look. "Ah was with them blue coats fer three years before they kicked me out.. Said ah was too.. cruel in mah ways of fightin'. Told me that a war like that was te be fought by gentlemen and not butchers." He chuckled gruffly. "Ah never went te no fancy academy te learn how te fight like a gentleman, balancing mah tea cup in one hand, while performin' a damn swordfight with te other."

"They gave you an dishonourable discharge?" she asked carefully.

He nodded. "On te account of executing unnecessary acts of violence. Goddamn hypocrites in Washington didn't think it was a good example te have a captain runnin' around that didn't pay no heed te grey coats surrendering. Nah, they rather send those boys te a camp like Elmira, all te way up in New York. Let them do their dyin' on the East coast instead."

Processing his words, her mind brought her back to the evenings spend with her father, sharing stories of where he had been, and what he had seen, during his years of enlistment. To her, it had always seem like her father had gone on a great adventure, but now she realized the man had shared only the good with his daughter, and had left out the more gruesome parts. Or rather, the reality.

"Maybe you and my father crossed paths at one point.." she said softly, a small smile forming around her lips, the thought comforting. That the man she travelled with, a wanted criminal, had laid eyes on her father, perhaps even shared a word or two. But then again, they would have been enemies in the eyes of the law.

"Ah doubt it.." Butch replied without looking at her. "Fact he came home to yer mother meant ah never met him." with that statement, he urged his horse into a trot, taking the lead, and forcing her to dig her spurs into her own horse's flanks as well, in order to keep up with him. They had started their descend, leaving the peak of the mountain behind them while their animals battled with the slippery, rocky ground, trying not to lose their footing.

"But it's possible isn't it?" she called after him, holding on to Bobby's manes for without a saddle, staying on top of a descending horse was a task all by itself. "Perhaps you two met on neutral ground. I've heard my father speak about such encounters, where he talked to a Union soldier on fairly good terms. Did that never happen to-"

"Ssh!" He hushed her, suddenly standing still, his eyes roamed the thick forest surrounding them. The dim light made it hard for her to see beyond the first two rows of trees, but he seemed to have picked up a sound. She halted her horse beside him, pulling on the reins clumsily. A few minutes passed, in which nothing happened, and she felt her horse getting restless underneath her. And then she heard it, faintly, in the distance. The sound of a mule, and the laughing of men setting up their evening camp.

"They've set down for te night." Butch whispered, nodding to himself. "We'll do the same." Silently, he got off his horse, the heels of his boots making no sound whatsoever when they touched the gravelled ground. Her own dismounting went less gracefully and, hanging on to Bobby's manes, she clumsily cascaded into a sturdy bush that grew on the mountain side, causing the horse to neigh gently in surprise and throw his head up in uneasiness as she landed. She dismantled herself from the scrub while muttering unchristian like incantations, and looked up when the gang leader held out his hand for her to take. He ceased her up, effortlessly, chuckling at her little accident. "On yer feet, Sharky." He whispered. "Stretch those legs a little before sittin' down or they'll lock up on ye." He turned away from her soon enough again, gazing into the direction of the campsite belonging to the poachers they had been tracking all day.

She rubbed her arms against the cold wind playing with her hair. "Shall I gather some wood for a fire?" she offered almost pleadingly. "It's cold." She continued apologetically.

"No fires." Butch grumbled, not bothering to turn around and face her. "We're in Apache territory. For as far as ah've seen, we've gone unnoticed." He scanned the surroundings forests. "Let's keep it that way."

She shivered violently in response to his unsettling decision. "We won't last a night in this cold without a fire." She protested. "Or atleast I won't." This time he turned to her slowly, narrowing his eyes at the freezing young woman under his, involuntary, charge.

"Ye can take my horse's blanket too." He told her, making an uninterested hand movement toward his mare. "Ah have no need for it tonight." she blinked at his words, and watched him pull out his revolver to reload it. "Give me yer gun." It took a while before his request had processed through her mind, her eyes fixed on his fast working hands, taking bullets from his belt to shove inside the opened chamber. "Hey!" she snapped out of her thoughts and looked at him with wild eyes. "Yer gun! Now!" He barked.

She quickly reached for her own revolver, still trying to get used to the heavy metal object hanging around her waist, and handed to him. "And the belt." He added, pointing at her gun belt. "Ah want te whole kit." She unbuckled the belt, adjusted tightly around her leather trousers, and handed him that too. He wasted no time to put it around himself, and muttered something under his breath about Evans' goddamn possessions hanging around his own waist. Now adorned like a proper gun slinger, he took off his hat and smoothed back his hair before putting it back on. "How do I look?" He asked.

She gazed at him, up and down. "Like a criminal." She told him, a little unsure about what he wanted to hear. He chuckled, it seemed to have been the right answer.

"Good." He said. "Ye stay here, stay low, no sound, no fires and whatever ye hear, if the Apaches show up ah want ye te get on yer horse, take mine with ye, and get te hell out of this damn forest. Am ah clear?" he told her sternly. She hesitated. "Ah need an answer, Sharky."

She nodded slowly, not too keen on leaving him without a horse. "Are you going to kill the hunters now?"

He gave her a toothy grin, and winked at her. "Ahm gonna raise a little hell." With that last statement, he turned and stalked off into the dark woods, until she could no longer make out his shape against the dim light of the moon. She wrapped the horse blanket around her shoulders, and sat down on the other one. A shiver ran up her spine, but she wasn't sure it was because of the cold. It could have very well been from the idea that the men camping a little up ahead, were about to die at the hands of a vicious outlaw.


	27. Chapter 27

**Well I suppose the review section couldn't get any better. I received amazing fanart by the talented TeiyusTeki. And my hundredth review by Outlaw Bear was just too much honour. Thank you guys so much for the love and support! I hope this story will continue to take you all to a different world whenever reality is too hard to face**.

Small warning to the tender hearted amongst us: This chapter could be considered rather violent.

 **Chapter 27**

Four men and a dog sat around a campfire. Tired, homesick for their beds, and unknowing of their exact location.

"I bet we walk right into a town of some sort at the foot of this darn mountain. And all ye ungrateful youngsters will be scratchin' behind yer ears fer yellin' at me like ye did." The oldest grumbled as he spat into the fire. The flames made a hissing sound as his alcohol induced saliva vanished in the heat, as if the fire spat back. Apparently, the man was responsible for the whereabouts of the rest, and he had gotten into trouble as soon as he had voiced his concern about their current route.

"Whut sort of navigator don't bring a map?!" A haggard looking man with red hair barked back. "Are ye even a real trapper? Or was that all tall talk from an ol' coon?!"

"Ah was trappin' these parts when yer mama was still wipin' yer nose, boy." The old man defended himself. "Ye'd be hangin' upside down above a Comanche bonfire right now if it wasn't fer me."

The man with the red hair spat in the sand next to his boots, and had nothing more to say. A younger man sat beside him, some would even still call him a boy, his expression vacant as he gently pet the collie laying at his feet. Then there was a big sturdy man, round as a barrel, who seemed oblivious and uninterested to the topics that were being discussed. He dug his yellow teeth into the fried leg of some sort of bird, belched as he chewed, and continued doing what he was best at. Eating.

"Ah don't even think we're supposed to be here." The young man finally said with a shaky voice as his eyes scanned the woods around them. His frantic behaviour didn't seem to disturb his dog, and so, the rest of the company didn't share his alarm. "Whut if we're in Injun territory er sumthin'?" The young man had started to hyperventilate. "Ahs have this feelin' we aint supposed te linger ere. Don't feel right. Don't feel right at all."

The man with the red hair struck him across his head harshly. "Pull yerself together ye gump!" He hissed angrily through his teeth. "Ye've been blabberin' about Injuns ever since we left! If there was Injuns around we'd be dead already." He spat on into the sand again. "Besides that's whut that gun is fer." That last statement seemed to distress the young man even more.

"Ah aint shootin' no injun!" He protested, his hyperventilating returning in full force. "Ah aint killin' no one except animals!" The rest of the men laughed and shared glances.

"They are animals, boy." The old man chuckled. "Ye better kill em, er lose yer pretty scalp. And then no woman will want ye anymore and ye'd die without ever gettin' te be with one, is that whut ye want?" The rest followed in on his chuckling, all except their youngest member, who stared at the old man in utter shock.

The dog had lifted her head, staring straight into the forest, but no one seemed to notice her focused attention. Then she barked, softly, more like a howl, and the men grew silent. "What is it, gal?" The young man asked his dog. She got to her feet, her back straight, and she barked again, this time louder, her focus still on the same spot just behind the first row of trees. "She heard sumthin'." The young man decided, his breathing growing rapid again. "She don't bark like this unless sumthin's going on."

"Well tell her te shut her trap." The man with the red hair snarled. "Put a sock in it."

The young man seemed offended, more so now it was about his dog. "Ah aint puttin' socks in Abby's mouth, Zeke!" He shot at the red haired man. "Ah brought er along so she could warn us, and she's warnin' us now!"

"Ahh, it's probably just Sam returnin' with the fire wood, ye idiot! Quiet down that goddamn mut before ah kick er so hard she don't remember left from right!" Zeke answered angrily. All the while the dog barked, and barked, and pulled on the piece of rope that the young man had tied around the pointy tip of his own boot.

"Why would she bark at Sam?! She's known him all er life! She knows whut he smells like!" the young man protested, almost getting dragged along as the collie struggled to break free from the rope. "Shut er up!" Zeke warned again. As the dog continued her noise, the red haired man swiftly kicked her against her legs, causing her to topple to her side with a loud painful yelp.

"YE BASTARD!"

The fat man's piece of meat was knocked right from his grip as the young man jumped onto Zeke, pushing him into the fat man's side. Staring at the spilled food with a defeated expression, the fat man decided this was the right moment to mingle into the conversation, and jumped on top of the two fighting men, joining their fight over a now sandy piece of bird leg.

The old man shook his head at the three fighting men and downed the rest of his cold coffee. "Morons." He grumbled. "Te lot o' ye"

No one noticed how the collie managed to break herself free, and run off into the dark. Seconds later the gut wrenching yelp of a dog getting stabbed rendered the men silent, their fighting ceased at the disturbing sound, and no one moved a muscle anymore.

"A..Abby?" The young man called out carefully, untangling himself from the others before getting up from the ground and dust off his trousers. There was no reply. "Co..Come ere' gal." Instead of a dog, a man appeared between the trees, walking up to the company of hunters.

"Woof." Butch said sadistically. "She won't be comin' no more, boy."

For a moment, nobody moved, and a wave of recognition came over the tired, stained faces of the buffalo hunters.

"Lord protect us.." The old man spoke first, softly, more to himself than to his company. "Butch Cavendish."

The young man seemed more distraught by the news of his lost pet than the sight of the wanted criminal, and peered over Butch's shoulder, looking for his dog, before moving his tearstained eyes back to the gang leader's gaunt face. "Ye killed her?" He choked on his tears. "Ye killed her! Ye monster!" He reached for his gun clumsily, nearly dropping it, but Butch was faster, and held the boy at gunpoint.

"Put it down er ah'll make ye join yer pooch." The gang leader warned. The crying young man hesitated, his expression filled with rage. "Don't be stupid." Butch continued, cocking his gun. "Ah ain't asking ye again." Still bawling like a child, the young man slowly lowered his gun. "Sit down." Butch ordered, pointing his gun at the ground. "All o' ye." The four men huddled together, their previous quarrel forgotten. They seemed scared, intimidated, and the youngest still very upset about the loss of his dog. "Guns out." Butch continued. "On the ground, shove em to me." Slowly, the three men obeyed. Taking out their weapons and shoving them toward the gang leader.

"Ye too, oldtimer." Butch told the old man without looking at him. The old man, feeling slighted in his position, took his time to take out his revolver and tossed it into the sand in front of the gangleader's snake leather boots. Despite the provoking glares Butch received from the older man, he ignored it, and shoved the pile of guns away from the campsite with the side of his boot. Making them come to a piled up halt at the edge of the tree line. He bend down and picked up a rolled up piece of rope from one of the saddles.

Only now the youngest of the company seemed to understand the severity of the situation now the first wave of shock of losing his beloved pup was behind him. The very realization send him into an instant panic attack. "Butch Cavendish.." He repeated the name with a trembling voice. "Oh mah lord.. We're gonna die!" He received another blow from Zeke.

"Keep it together, ye idiot." The red haired man grumbled. "Ahm sure we can work out an agreement with mister Cavendish ere' that would benefit the both of us." He continued, trying to peer over his shoulder at the impassive gang leader while he tied the four men together by their wrists. "Ah heard he can be reasoned with when offered the right price."

"Ah yea?" Butch mumbled, tightening the knot in the rope. "Ahm willin' te bet mah bottom dollar the person that told ye that aint never ran into me in all his life." Zeke's self-assured expression fell, and he whimpered softly while the outlaw got to his feet. "Ah take it none o' ye hotdoggin' buffalo boys know where they are?" Butch asked rhetorically, playing with the chamber of his own Colt. When no answer came, he huffed. "Who's idea was it te pass through these hills?" He looked at the four men, their wrists now tied behind their backs, his eyes resting on Zeke. "You, mister right price?"

Zeke shook his head. "Ah aint no navigator. It's ol' Ben over there we hired te git us across the plains." He nodded at the old man, who's expression darkened at being thrown in front of the outlaw's feet like that by one of the men he was trying to lead into safety. "It was his idea to go across the mountain. It would give us a whole day, according' te him. And now we're stuck in the Cavendish gang.. ye're a bona fide genius, Ben! Well done!"

"Shut up, ye ungrateful worthless piece of shit." Ben growled, but Zeke just scoffed and mumbled something under his breath. "Whut did ye call me, boy?!" The old man roared in anger, struggling against his bindings to do God knows what to the younger man that defied him.

"Shut yer trap." Butch commanded calmly, staring at the old man with a warning glare. "Or ah'll make sure ye never utter another word again." Slowly, Ben calmed down. "How long have ye boys been hunting?" the gang leader inquired, peering at the piled high wagon. "That's quite the small fortune ye got there drippin' blood."

"We've been out here for two months." Ben answered, now gazing at the ground, his hope of survival leaving him slowly. "Ye want the lot, take it.. " He continued with a nod toward the wagon. "If that would slim down the chances of those boys gettin' shot at yer hand."

"Ah don't care about yer hides." Butch said, kneeling down in front of the four men to be at eye level. "But ah know who do. And yer in the middle of it." His gaze rested on the old man. "Ye lead yer whelps straight into Apache territory." A grin came over his mangled face, making him look all the more terrifying in the flames of the campfire. "With a wagon full of hides of buffalo herds belongin' te the Tonkawa." He chuckled dryly. The old man said nothing, but his face had gone completely pale and his lip trembled.

"A..Apache?" The young man stammered, drawing the gang leader's attention. "They.. they don't take yer scalp, right? Not.. not like them Comanche's up north, right?" Butch didn't answer, and moved his eyes back to the old man with a much telling grin before getting back on his feet.

"Ah wouldn't count on it, boy." He grumbled. "They don't take lightly to white men poachin' their buffalo. However.." his eyes rested on the fat man, who had been trying to become invisible despite his big posture, his face like a scared child. "Maybe they agree on lettin' ye all keep yer barks if ye hand over butterball here. They could feed their whole damn village with the likes o' him." He made himself laugh, especially when the big man started trembling like a leaf. "Build a tipi out of yer skin too, ah reckon." As the bulky man started crying soundlessly, Butch just chuckled.

"Let them go." The old man started pleading in a desperate measure. "Keep me here, let them git on their horses and git out o' here." Butch ignored him as he walked around the campsite, picking up a canister. "Yer just gonna watch us all git killed by redskins?!" Ben continued more forcefully. The gang leader took a deep swig from the home brewn Moonshine, and made a face at the cruel taste. "Have ye no decency?!" the old man yelled. "We're white folks, just like yerself!"

Putting the cork back on the bottle, Butch licked his lips. "Ye better don't holler like that around ere' or yer just makin' it easier fer them te find ye." He chuckled. "Saves me te trouble of wastin' a bullet tryin' te git their attention. Then again.. it aint really a matter if they'll find ye, er when.. just a matter of who. Aint that right, old man?" The company's navigator gave no reply, but his lip trembled in his building anger at the injustice of the current situation. "And fer yer sake, ah sure do hope it's them Tonkawa's with the better hearing abilities." Butch continued, and lifted his gun into the air. He fired one shot, and the noise carried through the mountains' canyons with a sickening echo, causing the three men to flinch. The old man hadn't flinched, but tears of anger rolled down his carved in, sunbeaten face.

"Let them go." He begged. "Please! They're just boys!"

Butch tilted his head in curiosity. "Boys?" he said, and peered at the three men huddled together. "Ah see only one boy, and two men." He stated. The old man said nothing, and looked away, which to Butch was a sign the man was hiding something. He narrowed his eyes. "Whut's goin' on ere?" The outlaw asked. "What boys?"

The three men were just as silent, their expressions of fear unchanged, but the youngest now seemed more defensive than scared. But none of them offered an explanation, which greatly agitated the dangerous man holding them at gunpoint this very moment.

"Which one of ye beef chasers was stupid enough te bring their kid along, eh?" Butch grumbled darkly, tossing the canister of moonshine to the side. "Where is he?" His keen eyes roamed the campsite. "Where are ye, kid?!"

Half a mile from the dramatic scene, Eleanor waited patiently for the gang leader's return. Hidden safely among the trees and the two tired horses, she sat on her blanket, gazing at the dim light of the distant campfire. She had heard the shot, and hoped that it meant the end of this dreadful evening was nearing. If the men had to die, let them die quick, with one shot, as she knew Butch was capable of. But then again, he also enjoyed playing with his prey, much like a cat could do. A sound caught her attention, something ran through the woods, panting lightly. It wasn't heavy, its steps light but swift. It then passed her, and against the light of the campfire, she caught the silhouette of a child, hasting himself back to his company after hearing the gun shot.

"Oh dear God.." she whispered to herself. No doubt the child was unaware of what was taking place at the campsite, no doubt he had no idea he was about to run into the barrel of a dangerous outlaw. Ignoring Butch's instructions, she went into pursuit of the child, following in his pace as fast as her feet could carry her, the tresses of Frank's leather straps jingling softly. It was as if she moved in slow motion, every other sound was drowned out by the leaves cracking under her boots, her heart beating in her throat and her fast breathing like clouds of fog in the cold night air. The boy stopped just behind Butch, taking in the scene in pure bewilderment. His young eyes went from the outlaw's back to the faces of the four men sitting on the ground.

"He's got a gun, Sam!" The young man shouted in pure panic. "Shoot him!"

As Butch turned around in an agonizingly slow manner, his heels digging into the ground, to see who had come up behind him, Sam reached for the much too large revolver with his still small hands.

"Shoot him, Sam! He killed Abby!"

Now facing the slightly thrown off gang leader, Sam's courage was leaving him quickly. The gun he held, now pointed at Butch, was trembling in his hands, and big tears of fear were rolling down his pale cheeks. Butch tilted his head at the young child that had managed to caught him off guard.

"Shoot, Sam! Shoot!"

As the child started crying more and more, the gun almost slipping from his grip, Butch slowly lowered his own weapon, only to spread his arms in invitation, his Colt dangling from one finger. As the boy's sobbing continued to grow more desperate, the gangleader's face lit up with a wicked smile.

"Shoot him, Sam!"

Butch took a daring step toward the crying child, his expression calculative and calm. "Is that yer older brother hollerin' at ye te shoot me?" He asked. The boy nodded vigorously. "Ah knew it was." Butch continued, taking another step in his direction. "Ye ever killed a man before, boy?"

"Don't listen to him, Sam!"

For a moment, the boy's eyes switched to his brother's frantic face before coming back to the outlaw's tranquil features, as if the man was approaching a wild animal, or a spooked horse. Then he shook his head, he never killed a man. "Aint a pretty sight." Butch explained calmly. "Lot of blood, gurgling.. All sorts of sounds ye don't want te hear. All sorts o' sights ye aint never forgettin'" He took another step in his direction, and made a face. "Ye don't want that, do ye?"

Hesitating for a moment, the crying child shook his head slowly, but didn't lower his gun. Slowly, Butch was closing the distance between them, his blue eyes fixed on the young boy's distraught face. "Give me the gun, boy." The gang leader ordered. "Give me the gun and ye can go sit with yer brother."

"Shoot, Sam! Shoot him!"

Still unsure about what to do, the child didn't move, his eyes going back and forth between the outlaw and his older brother, who he didn't want to disappoint. "Did you kill Abby?" Sam asked with a trembling voice. "Did you kill my dog?"

Butch licked his lips in contemplation and then nodded. "Ah did." He confirmed. "But she got me good. Got her teeth printed allover mah arm.. ye lower than gun, sit with yer brother and ah'll show ye what she did te me." He offered. It didn't seem to console the child, and he broke out in tears allover again, holding the gun more tightly in his grip now.

Getting impatient with the situation, Butch took another step into his direction. "Hand over the gun, boy." He ordered more sternly. "Ah aint tellin' ye again." The boy's expression had gotten darker, and the gang leader had picked up on it. In a flash Butch had closed the distance, grabbed Sam's wrist roughly and pried the weapon from his small fingers. Whatever moral restraint the outlaw had saved for the situation, he was fed up with it now, and mercilessly aimed the loaded revolver at the panicking child. "Got ya." He mumbled with a wicked grin. "Gotta learn te do what grown-ups tell ye to do." He cocked the gun. The child's older brother cried out in the back ground, shouting incoherent wishes and curses at the outlaw's back, which were all ignored.

At that moment Eleanor positioned herself between Butch's gun and the boy, causing the tip of the barrel to press against her chest. Slightly out of breath from running, she gazed at the gang leader defiantly, almost angrily, as if she was offended to find out he was able to hold a child at gunpoint. Her anger rose when she noticed he didn't lower his gun either, his expression going from slight surprise to pure anger at her disobedience. For a moment neither of them spoke, and even the young man in the background had stopped his wailing.

"Step aside." Butch broke the silence.

"You want to kill this child you'll have to do it through me." She shot back at him, her voice slightly trembling at her dangerous provocation. "Is that what you want?"

His expression darkened, and he narrowed his eyes. "Step.. aside.." He told her again, warning her with his entire posture, his entire voice. She shook her head slowly, almost pleadingly. "I won't let you do this." She whispered. "I can't stand aside idly and watch you kill an innocent child. I won't." he pulled up his lip in a furious snarl, but she didn't back off. "Don't do this." She begged softly. "Please.."

He growled, and grabbed the front of her shirt roughly. "Shut up!" He hissed, and pushed her aside with such force she lost her footing and landed in the dusty sand with a small painful huff. "Ah'll deal with you later." He threatened, and turned back to the boy. "Die at the hand of a bullet er die losing yer scalps to the Apaches. Let's ask yer big brother what he thinks is best." Butch spoke menacingly. The interruption had only caused his aggravation to build. He turned toward the trembling young man sitting with the rest. "After all he thought it was such a great idea te let his little brother shoot a man, let's see if he's got the wisdom to pick between a barkin' er a shootin' What's it gonna be, big brother?!"

The young man could do nothing but cry over the sight of his terrified little brother, and no sensible word left his lips. Butch scoffed at the teenager's tears. "Yea.. Don't big brothers just know best, eh? Bullshit.."

Not about to give up, Eleanor got to her feet with difficulty, rubbing her sore arm. "Aren't you tough!" she sneered. "Aren't you just the undisputed king of crime!" she spat, but quieted down as Butch turned toward her slowly, his expression impassive. "But you won't kill a child.." she spoke determinedly, the very idea not making sense to her. "Not even you would do such a thing. I know you.."

The gang leader narrowed his eyes at her, and shifted his weight from one leg to the other. "Know me, eh?" his voice had gotten darker, like a low growl. With slow, swaying steps he walked up to her. "Ye think ye know me?" He whispered to her through gritted teeth. Confused, she blinked, and before she could answer he had turned away again, walked up to the four men tied together, raised his gun, aimed it at the red haired man, and fired without a second thought, without his expression ever changing. The young man cried out in fear as he was covered in the blood and brain matter of his colleague. The fat man had shut his eyes tightly and was praying out loud, big tears rolling down his round cheeks. The old man struggled against his bindings and cursed the gang leader high and low, his thick Irish accent hard to miss, which made his incantations all the more complicated to decipher.

She stood, bewildered, staring at the man that had saved her life like she suddenly saw him for the first time. He turned to her, cocking his gun a second time. "Anything else ye think ah won't do?" he asked. "Since ye know me so well."

"How could you.." she started, still half in shock. He walked up to her, his face close to hers.

"Ye want te know somethin' about killin' children?" he hissed. "The first one is the hardest. After that, they're all the same..damn..thing." Then she struck him. Hard. Across his face. His words a pure insult to everything she considered human. The impact had only slightly averted his eyes from hers, and as he slowly regained his hardly shaken bearings, she knew she had overstepped the line once more. He moved his jaw, feeling it throb, and spat out a drop of blood. "That was a dumb thing te do." He told her. Before she realized it, he had grabbed the front of her shirt again, pulling her close to his face. Her expression remained hard until she caught sight of his knife, dangerously close to the soft skin of her throat. She trembled, her eyes flashing from the trademark weapon to the eyes of the man wielding it. He moved the cold steel to the side of her head, and she whimpered feeling it against her already half frozen cheek, thinking he was going to carve in her face like the very man he had saved her from. He snarled angrily, and she felt a sharp tug, to which she cried out in pain, her eyes tightly shut. When she opened them again, he held up a strand of her auburn hair. His warning loud and clear. "Next tahm it's yer ear." He told her, and let her go. Her knees, weak from the ordeal, buckled underneath her weight, and she slumped down against the tree he had pinned her against. "Know me.." He mocked the dazed young woman. "Ah'll make sure ye do before this damn trip is over."

Recollecting her ability to breathe calmly, she gazed ahead of her, through his legs as he was still standing in front of her collapsed form. She noticed how the child had regained his mobility, overcoming his own shock in a much more courageous way than his family and company had done. She blinked against the sight, hardly aware of what she was seeing, her brain taking a while to process the images. The boy had noticed the pile of guns close to the edge of the tree line, and slowly made his way over, while keeping his eyes fixed on the outlaw leader. She frowned watching him bend over gingerly to pick up one of the revolvers, cocking back the hammer with his small finger, and aiming it at Butch's unattended back.

"Oh my God.." was all she could mutter right before the birds were scared from the tree tops by a loud gunshot.

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I love cliffhangers.. R&R!


	28. Chapter 28

**Next chapter, folks! Sorry for the long wait. I'll be in Wyoming 15** **th** **of June to 29** **th** **of August, with no computer, so I won't be posting any updates in that period (if I see Butch I'll tell him you all said hi)**

 **Once again, thank you to all that take time to review, follow or fav! Enjoy!**

Chapter 28.

She wasn't sure the young boy had managed to hit the gang leader, but from what she could see, nothing seemed to obstruct Butch from firing back from behind the tree she was sitting against, holding her hands tightly pressed to her ears to block out the loud gun fight that had erupted. The child had cut the ropes tied around the wrists of his older brother in the short confusion after the first gun shot. Butch had lost his footing for only a split second, almost falling on top of her, but he had regained his balance sure enough.

Her ears rang from the loud blasts so close to her head, and the voices of the men yelling at eachother back and forth sounded like they were behind sound proof glass. The many guns firing at the same time filled the entire campsite with a thick layer of smoke, and the air started smelling like burned powder. Through the haze, she managed to open her eyes, her temporary state of deafness creating the illusion like she wasn't part of the violent scene taking place. She blinked slowly, her own breathing and the ringing in her ears the only sound she could detect. She watched the teenager empty his revolver with a new found determination now his bindings were off, all in an effort to protect his younger brother, who had the same sort of deranged anger written allover his pale face. The bullets soared right past her person, some burying themselves into the tree, covering her in snippets of wood, but she hardly realized it through her shell shocked daze.

The old man, still tied down, yelled till his voice gave out. His face red and swollen from panic and anger. He struggled against his bindings, and she watched him move his mouth, but there was no sound to detect for her. The fat man still sat quietly, crying, and praying to anyone willing to listen.

From where she and Butch had entered the campsite, two horses came bursting through the smoke. Their own horses. She felt the ground vibrate under their heavy hooves, but she didn't hear their feet touch the frozen soil. They ran past the fat man and the old navigator, spooked by something, and galloped past her, past the tree, disappearing from her sight. It only slowly reached her mind that they had just lost their method of transport to something she didn't seem to be a part of.

"We lost the horses.." she whispered to no one in particular, her head throbbing from the blast. "I saw them.." No one seemed to hear her. She couldn't even hear herself.

Coming out of nowhere, an arrow hit the old man right in the chest, and his angered face changed into that of a dying human, blood covering his lips as he struggled for air from his penetrated lungs. She frowned at the sight, thinking her mind was playing tricks on her eyes. Another arrow hit the fat man in his leg, and he screamed out in pain, but again the sound was lost to her. Yet the firing of guns, and bullets flying back and forth without ever hitting her, continued on full force. Then an arrow buried itself into the tree right next to her head.

From left and right Apache riders came bursting into the camp, knocking over boxes and saddles on their way. Their war cries went unheard, but the sight of them was enough to make her heart beat in her throat. Their faces painted red and black, riding decorated and adorned horses, they butchered those still tied down without mercy or second thought. When one of them locked eyes with the girl sitting on the ground leaning against a tree, he raised his bow, aiming at the small space between her eyes. She blinked slowly at the magnificent looking Apache warrior, remembering her father's and grandfather's stories about the proud tribe that had aided them more than once. The irony that she would die at the hands of one, was almost comical. As he fired, she was yanked aside roughly, and pulled to her side. An arrow hit the tree right where her head had been a few split seconds ago. Her view changed. Suddenly she was gazing at the swaying tree tops, staring straight into Orion's belt. She heard the dimmed blasts of gunshots firing close to her head, now on the ground. Butch's face came into view, his sky blue eyes wild and angry. He yelled at her, his mauled lips formed her name, but his voice sounded like someone was yelling at her from beneath the water surface. She blinked at him slowly.

"I can't hear you." She whispered, feeling her head throb painfully. The collar of his white shirt was stained red with blood, and she frowned at the sight. "You're bleeding." Her observations were lost to him and he frowned at the state she was in, looking her up and down to see if she might be injured. "I'm fine." She continued her soft spoken explanations, not sure if he could hear her. Another threat caused him to avert his attention to what she couldn't see, and he fired his guns with skill and determination. Despite the chaos, she felt like she could sleep, and she closed her eyes to allow herself to float to another world. Back to her mother's ranch. In her mind it was still standing, no traces of the fire that had burned it down. Grandfather in his rocking chair on the porch, waved at her, and smiled. All seemed fine. But her peace was short lived as she was pulled to her feet roughly, the world dancing in front of her disorientated eyes. Dragged along by her arm, Butch took her away from the still unfolding scene of horror. Her feet obeyed without asking her brain for permission, and she ran with him, sometimes tripping, but he made sure her buckling knees never touched the ground. Horse riders passed them by, riding into the war zone they were leaving behind, they were Tonkawa, and ignored her and the gang leader as he lead her through the maze of horse legs.

The fate of the child suddenly crossed her sedated mind, and she peered over her shoulder. The boy was standing next to the butchered form of his older brother, three arrows sticking out of his back, and gazed down at it with tear stained cheeks, his gun hanging at his side, forgotten, as the two Indian tribes exploded in a war that was not his own, and in which he had no part.

She pulled on Butch's arm, intending to stop him in his tracks, but he was stronger. "Wait.." he didn't hear her, so she pulled harder, digging her heels into the frozen soil. It caught his attention and he looked at her with wild eyes, yelling something incoherent that was undoubtedly the order to hurry up. Determined, she grabbed a nearby branch, holding on to it for dear life as she fought against him. "I'm not leaving him." she said. He had enough, and picked her up roughly, hanging her over his wounded shoulder like a sack of potatoes. She struggled, and fought, and beat him until she hit his wound and he released her with a sharp cry. She fell to the ground, the leaves cushioning her fall, and she quickly got to her feet with the intention to run back. Again he grabbed her arm, and she turned to kick him, aiming for his shin, but the tip of her boot landed straight between his legs. It worked. He let her go, and she didn't stick around to watch him double over in pain.

As fast as her feet could carry her she hurried back to the campsite, where the ground was littered with fallen Apache and Tonkawa warriors, she jumped over their bodies. Horses without riders ran around in pure panic. And for those still atop their mounts, the fight continued. Arrows flew back and forth, and she made her way through the chaos of horse legs until she got to the child. She picked him up, like a mother risking everything to rescue her youngsters, and made way for the trees, hoping Butch was waiting for her despite what she had done to him.

But he wasn't there anymore.

Looking around, she called for him, but no answer came. The child's silent wailing slowly made its way into her brain, barely processing the sound. She held on to him more closely, and hushed him in between her calls for help. The sounds of the fight died out as she proceeded on the way Butch had shown her, and slowly, her hearing returned. The noises of the forest by night a welcome gift. She listened to her own breathing as she walked, getting strenuous from carrying the boy. His crying had subsided, and he seemed to have decided to rest in his fate. As the last rays of glow from the campfire died out, and engulfed them both in absolute darkness, she stopped and let the boy stand on his own two feet, her arms numb from his weight. She deemed them both safe enough to take a short repose, and leaned against a tree to catch her breath, watching it form ghosts of fog in the cold night air.

She wondered if Butch had decided to leave her behind. Finally fed up with her disobedience. His warning had been very clear before, perhaps it had been her final one, and this was her punishment. Abandonment in a place she didn't know, with nowhere to go. She closed her eyes at the thought and grimaced. Frustrated with herself, she banged the back of her head against the tree gently. Stupid, stupid, stupid. The boy touched her hand, worried about her behaviour, and she looked down at him, forcing a sad smile.

"They killed my brother." He stated dryly. "He shouldn't have killed one of them first." He was wise beyond his years, and it worked against him in every way. The more you know, the more you suffer. "Are you part of the Cavendish gang?"

She huffed. Some gang. The question reached her only slowly, and she let it roll around in the back of her mind for a moment. Looking down at herself, she couldn't blame the child for his question. Dressed in Frank's clothing, she looked as much as an outlaw as Butch himself. "No.." she finally decided on saying, her eyes roaming the dark woods surrounding them. "I just.. travelled with them. For a while." Her explanation made no sense to the child, and he gazed at her with a confused expression. She ignored it by lack of a better alibi, and sighed heavily, wondering about what to do now. "We can't linger here." She said. "Come on." As she started walking, he followed in close pursuit, like she had done with the gang leader. Once lost, you're willing to follow anything and anyone who claims to know the way.

The moon decided to lend her guidance in small quantities. Shining down only sporadically on the two lost souls in the middle of the grand Apache forest. The frozen leafs cracked under the four feet, announcing winter, and a cold night that wasn't over yet. There was no path laid out for them, no road to follow, and she simply trusted on her instincts to walk the same way Butch had done. But she wasn't sure they weren't walking in circles. Her quick pace caused the boy to have a hard time to keep up with her, but it also kept the both of them sufficiently warm enough to withstand the winter air, and as the night progressed, and everything turned as silent as a graveyard around them, snowflakes came twirling down the black sky, covering the ground in a white layer of cold fluff within the course of an hour. Any traces of Butch's whereabouts were hereby erased, and she realized she was on her own.

They had been walking for hours, with no conversation taking place to spare their energy, when she stopped to catch her breath, looking around her with unseeing eyes. Nothing had changed around them. The forest was packed tight, the snow had almost completely hidden the leafs beneath their boots.

"Do you think I killed him?" came the question behind her back.

She frowned at the almost pride in the child's voice. "I don't know." She replied after a few moments of hesitation. "I don't think so."

"I did hit him though." The boy continued. "He's bleedin' awful bad, I know he is."

She shook her head in disbelief and gazed up at the dark sky, following the snowflakes on their slow way down. "Shooting people is bad." She whispered. "Didn't your mother teach you that?" the child did not respond, and it told her all she needed to know. "I suppose not." She added softly. "whatever she did teach you, I hope it included navigating yourself in unknown places. Mine sure skipped that lesson." Exhausted, and demoralized from all that happened in the past few hours, she leaned against a tree, sinking through her tired knees slowly. "And honestly I have no idea where we are."

The boy came into her view, his big doe eyes gazing at her with a patience foreign to her tired person. "Atleast you're rid of him." he told her. His ways of trying to remain positive unhandy and not what she needed to hear right now. "He shot Zeke. I hope he dies."

Gazing back at him wearily, she shook her head slowly. "What caused you to become so bloodthirsty at your age?" she whispered. "If you must know, he might have been our only chance to get out of this forest alive. He always knew exactly where we were. Without ever needing a map." She explained. The boy did not reply, and sat down next to her instead, sniffling because the cold made his nose runny. "And I know it sounds strange but.. He made me feel safe." She continued, peering into the dark nothingness ahead of her. "Only Heaven can help us now." She didn't move when the boy huddled against her form, looking for warmth and the conformation she was there. Carefully, she wrapped her arm around him.

She didn't think she had ever been in a forest this quiet. The silence was deafening. The snowfall had dimmed every noise, not even the wind could be heard howling through the distant canyons. She tried her best to remain awake, for the child's sake, and her own, but her exhaustion worked against her, and she had to fight to keep her eyes open and alert. She noticed with worry how the cold refused to touch her. Only the boy was shivering as they were both slowly covered under a blanket of snow, as if mother nature herself tucked them into bed, with the intention of never letting them wake up again. She fought the drowsiness that came with exposing the human body to extreme low temperatures, and felt her heart work double time to keep her system heated in vain.

Hearing the faint noise of heavy footsteps in the now approaching her, she opened her nearly frozen shut eyelids. From out of the hazy dark, the blanket of snow reflecting the light of the moon, came a horse, ridden by a figure clouded in shadows. She frowned at the sight, trying to make out the identity of both rider and mount. The animal halted in front of her, its muzzle close to her nose, as it nuzzled her in curiosity. Its warm breath melted the snowflakes in her hair, causing them to melt, and run down her face and into the collar of her shirt. She shivered, and blinked against the odd contact. The rider seemed to agree with what the horse was doing, and did not dismount until her shivering had subsided a little, warmed by the gentle animal's behaviour.

Silently hoping it was Butch who had decided to come look for her, she tried to calm herself as the mysterious rider approached her and covered her with a large buffalo hide, smelling vaguely like burned sage and wet dogs. It wasn't Butch. For Butch smelled like gunpowder, leather, sweat and occasionally blood. Whoever it was, he tried to save her life, and started building a fire from small twigs he fished out of the thick layer of snow, brushing them off against his buckskin sleeves and blowing them dry with his hot breath. In the dim light of the low burning flames, she recognized the old, worn features of chief Red Elk, concentrating on his task with a calmness that proved to be contagious. He waited till she stirred, till her limbs didn't scream anymore with every movement, before he spoke.

"Snow came sooner than I thought." He said. Again, his choice of opening line had nothing to do with the current situation, and she was still getting used to his way of starting a conversation. She sat up, trying not to wake the sleeping child, huddled against her side, and held a shivering hand to her forehead to steady herself. Her body was slowly warming up, and she felt the after effects of near hypothermia rattling her core. He handed her a buckskin sack which served as a canister to hold fluids, and made a movement to tell her she was supposed to drink whatever was inside. Thinking it unwise to disobey, she took a careful sip, and coughed harshly against the strong taste.

"Mezcal." Red Elk explained. "Women should not drink, but I fear you will not last the night if you don't."

She made a face, still coughing, and closed the container. "You mean after Mr. Cavendish just left me?" she added bitterly. "Did he tell you I'm your problem now?"

The old man gazed at her impassively, sitting calmly across the fire in a crossed legged position, his expression hard to read. "He went to get his horses. They are worth more to him than a rancher's daughter. But I don't think he left you." His eyes, filled with wisdom, strayed to the sleeping boy, unaware of what was taking place. "That child killed three of my tribesmen. This makes him mine. Though I'm willing to make a trade."

Instinctively, she tightened her hold on the boy, and gazed at the chief with a defying stare. "What will you do with him?" the old man did not reply. "Like Hell I will hand this child over to a tribe of Indians. What, so you can kill him?" Again, the Indian chief didn't offer any explanation, and simply let her huff and puff, like he knew women would and could do when something didn't go their way. In the end, he would get what he want anyway. "I'm not making any trade." She decided, shaking her head at the very thought. "I'm taking him to Standing Faith, where I was originally headed to before Butch decided to hand me over to the Indians. I'll find a more suitable solution for him there."

She would have said more had more horses and riders not joined their party. There were four, five, Tonkawa men, riding into their small camp on breezing, decorated horses. Weary from battle, but obviously victorious. They dismounted, and in their native tongues, talked to their chief, who nodded in understanding. She had no idea what was said among the men, but they looked at her like they were planning to take her scalp and leave her for dead in what was now Tonkawa territory. She wrapped her arms around the boy protectively, like she expected him to be yanked from her grip at any given moment, but no movement toward her was made, and she was left in oblivion about what was to become of her and the young child she had saved.

The wagon with hides was ushered into the camp by one of the Tonkawa men, who had obviously taught himself how to drive a wagon pulled by mule.

"These hides are already branded by the white men." Red Elk explained to her, as if the fate of the lot of hides was of a main concern to her right now. "This makes them undesirable to the Apache. They do not trade in branded hides." She gazed at him in confusion, having no idea why he was telling her this. "And we do not trade in branded women." Red Elk continued, pointing at the scar above her left eyebrow, left there by Evans. "You must know your worth. Which is not much. Unlike the child you're trying to protect despite it not being yours."

Getting fed up with being told how worthless she was, she rolled her eyes in anger and frustration, looking away from the chief's unyieldingly calm gaze. "I don't care what you offer me, I'm taking this child with me."

Red Elk nodded. "You're better than the man who gave you that scar." He told her. "But you're not better than me." She was quiet. "The child stays."

"And his mother won't ever see either of her children again." Eleanor said, her anger replaced by a deep sadness. "One dead. The other captured by Indians." It seemed to have made Red Elk think, for he gazed at her in contemplation. "How would you feel if one of your children was taken by white folk? Would you listen to their reasons as they explained to you they considered him theirs since he killed white men?"

"I think it would depend on what the white men would want to do with him." Red Elk said. "I wish to educate this child. Not harm him. If I wished him harm, I would send him back to the violent world he was brought up in." she remained silent. "A world you have been sheltered from for a long time, but is much the reality to many others." She averted her gaze to the snow covered ground, knowing he was right. "You should rest, and not worry about the fate of this child. It is by far better than your own." As she tried to reply, he held up his hand, indicating he had ended the discussion, and she was to speak no more. Feeling fatigued, weary, and cold, she decided to let him have his way, and be quiet.

The soft spoken conversations between the Indians calmed her wrecked nerves, and somehow put a stop to her worries if Butch would come back for her. She tried to keep her eyes open for as long as she possibly could, to keep an eye on the younger men surrounding their chief. One of them was undoubtedly the chief's own son, and the next chief to be. They wore the same sort of necklaces, made out of blue stones, feathers and the teeth of an animal. Much like the one White Feather had given her at the fort. But she had been Apache, and not Tonkawa. He couldn't be much older than she was, and it was obvious he disagreed with his father's more peaceful ways of dealing with her. Their heated discussion, or rather his own heated temper, and his father's everlasting tranquillity, lulled her into sleep eventually.

Her dreams showed no mercy to her shaken body and tired brain. The small coyote with his bright blue eyes visited her in an open space of the forest. His paws leaving no prints in the freshly fallen snow, as if he floated just above the surface of the earth. Even in her sleep, she felt the cold, and she shivered trying to keep her eyes on the small animal that seemed to lead her away from the small open space. As his speed increased, so did hers, trying to keep up with the much faster animal until she had to admit to herself she had lost track of him. Again, she was alone in the empty forest that almost seemed to harbour no lifeforms at all, and from which there was no way out, unless you managed to keep up with the spirits that had been there before.

The crying of a child in the distance caused her to spin around, only to face the blazing view of a burning Indian village, the fire melting away the snow in the tree tops, scorching the leafs and leaving nothing but blackened stems and twigs, swaying in the heated air currents. The sheer ferocity of it, its almost infernal heat, played with her hair, and caused her to blink painfully. Sparks illuminated the night air, creating more stars in the sky than there should be. The crying continued vaguely in the background, and she forced herself to look for the child wailing pitifully in the hell before her.

All she found was the coyote. In the middle of what seemed to be the town's square, he gnawed on the lifeless body of a deceased child, blood covering his snout and dripping from his whiskers. She whimpered in shock, and stood as frozen to the ground when the animal lifted its head to look at her. A sudden fit of rage came over her, and she let out a frustrated yell, bending down to pick up a rock. "Get out of here!" she cried, tossing the rock as hard as she could at the animal. The first one missed. The second one was a hit. The coyote yelped in pain as it hit one of his sensitive, lean legs. "Go away!" she threw another rock, hitting the animal's face. "Leave him alone!" she had had enough of this hound of perdition haunting her dreams, and even showing itself to her in her waking life. But instead of leaving, the coyote turned its vicious attention on her now, and slowly stalked up to her, its front teeth bared, showing its blood covered canine fangs. She backed away, still yelling for it to leave her alone, until she tripped over another dead body, and fell to the ash covered ground. The coyote launched its attack, and jumped on her, sinking its teeth into her arm. She cried out in pain, and struggled to get the snarling animal off of her. The more she beat it, the more his growls transformed into that of a human voice.

"Eleanor! Hey! HEY! STOP IT! ELEANOR!"

She froze, opening her eyes, no longer holding a fistful of fur, but the material of Butch's long coat. She stared at him wild eyed, as he returned her gaze with a puzzled and slightly out of breath expression.

"Where is it?!" she asked, sitting up and pushing him off of her. He gave no resistance, and moved away from her to sit back on his knees, still trying to collect his bearings, as was she. He had been trying to wake her from her nightmare for quite some time.

"Where's what?" he replied, almost bored.

"The coyote!" she continued, and looked around. "It was right here! And there was a burning village and.. and Sam.. Sam was dead!" she looked back at him, her expression turning angry. "What did you do?! Where is Sam?!"

Offended, he huffed. "Who the hell is Sam?!" he barked back. "Ah've been tryin' to stir ye from a nightmare for the past 20 minutes! That's what ah've been doin'!" slowly, it started to make sense to her, and she averted her gaze from his wild eyes to the silent staring of the Indians standing behind him, giving her curious looks. Sam stood next to Red Elk, holding on to the old man's hand like he had found his long lost father. "Ye were dreamin'" he explained more calmly. "Ah came back with them horses and Red Elk told me he couldn't get ye out of it. So here we are." She said nothing, still trying to make sense of it all. "And we've been here before, haven't we? Ah woke ye from one of these before." He continued. "Look at me." She obeyed, albeit unwillingly, and allowed him to stare into her eyes intently, as if looking for a particular thing.

She faintly noticed how he had wound his scarf around his shoulder, it was stained red with blood, but it had stopped bleeding a while ago. "You're wounded." She stated.

"Yea, ah got shot by a kid." He mumbled gruffly, ceasing his search for whatever it was he looked for in her gaze. "Got a three inch bullet in my shoulder. Guess who's fault that is, hm?" He gave her a meaningful glare and slowly got up from the ground with visible difficulty. "Not to mention ah'll be pissin' blood for a week." He growled. "Let's go." He swayed where he stood, took one last look at her, and then turned away, mumbling something to Red Elk, who gave no reaction other than a soft sigh. Somehow, by the tone in Butch's voice, she knew she had messed it up this time. He had never been anything but distant, and she always felt like trying to claw up a wall whenever she talked to him, but there was almost hurt in his voice this time. And she wasn't sure it was because of the loss of blood, or a feeling of betrayal.

As Butch made his way towards the horses, Red Elk's son mumbled something in his native language. The rest of the young warriors chuckled, and Butch spun around. "The Hell did ye just call me?!" He barked, walking up to the chief to be with a furious expression. The young Tonkawa man didn't move away, and didn't look scared or intimidated either, more defying, and ready for a fight he tried to start himself. Butch brought his face close to the upcoming chief. "Ye say that again, hm? Ah bet ye won't. Ah bet even ye aint that stupid."

"Enough." Red Elk ordered calmly. "Let him take this woman off our lands. They have no business here, and are free to leave without obstruction." For a moment it seemed neither of them was going to stand down, but then the young Tonkawa stepped back, a haughty glare on his strong face, not even he would defy his father's rules. He hissed another thing or two in his native tongue, only causing Butch's anger to build.

"Yea yea, ye have a lot o' nerve when yer daddy is around, don't ya?" The outlaw snarled, obviously trying to get the young Indian to make a mistake a suffer his father's wrath. "Yer time will come, boy. Let's see how ye fair then, eh? Ye'll be too busy makin' enemies left and right te see me strollin' through yer lands." It took a lot of discipline from the young man to not launch an attack on the arrogant gangleader, but with his father standing in the corner of his eyes, he dared not make a wrong move, and gave Butch the way eventually.

As the situation calmed, Red Elk looked down at the girl still sitting on the ground, the buffalo hide tightly around her. "You may keep that. As a reminder of this place." The chief explained, pointing at the fur. "Now we say goodbye." With one hand on the child's shoulder, he helped her up gently. "It isn't far to where you want to go, but I fear for him he may not make it." Red Elk continued gently. "He should not have gotten shot."

She peered over the chief's shoulder at the tired gang leader, trying to climb on top his horse without making too much of a show of himself.

"There was no persuading him to stay here." The chief explained to her. "These woods take him back to a time he was much more vulnerable than he is now. He does not wish to revisit those times."

She looked down at her boots, not feeling much for joining Butch on his way into town. She feared she might be up for reprimands all the way down the mountain, depending on how much energy the man had left with a bullet wound. She swallowed thickly, a question creeping into the back of her mind.

"I have these recurring dreams.." she started carefully, feeling silly already. "At times, they feel so real.."

Red Elk held up his hand to stop her. "I know. They worry me too." He said calmly. "I have not yet found their meaning. But when I find out, I will find a way to tell you. Until then.. I suggest you stop throwing rocks at things with teeth." She looked up at him sharply, wide eyed, wondering how he knew what her dreams had been specifically. "Your kindness brought you further than your anger." He continued, ignoring her visible panic. "Anger tends to break that what kindness created."

Whether or not the Indian chief was telling her to be nice to Butch, it was time to go, and she couldn't help but smile at the old man and the wisdom he was so willing to share with anyone in need of it. She looked down at the child, who seemed as calm as a lazy river in the summer, nothing seemed to worry him about staying with the Tonkawa's. Reaching up, she took off the silver cross she wore around her neck since she was a child.

"I want you to have this." She said to the child, gently pulling the necklace over his head.

Sam pointed at the feather band around his neck. "I already have something to protect me." He said proudly. She shook her head and smiled.

"The more Gods the better." She replied, tapping his nose gently. "Be good, Sam."

She had no idea how to say goodbye to the chief, what their customs were concerning goodbyes, so she nodded, and made her way over to Bobby. Somehow, her horse had regained his saddle, and seemed glad to see her. She climbed up, and shot Butch a quick look, indicating she was ready to go. The gang leader had no need for goodbyes, and didn't even raise a hand to the Indians, he simply turned his horse toward the descending path and lead her down the rocky trail. She blinked against the first sharp rays of sunlight, shining brightly through the pine trees. Every night ends. She reminded herself. There is a sunrise for everybody, if you only have the courage to wait long enough.

R&R please.


	29. Chapter 29

**Enjoy, lovelies!**

 **To Sansa:** Well, I watched you steadily read through the entire story, and leaving reviews here and there, so I had to reach you somehow. "Only white men make a fire everyone can see" is a real Native American proverb. Dances With Wolves very cleverly uses it as well. However, I do get my inspiration from various western inspired movies and books. Thanks for pointing out the Spanish grammar mistakes. I had to make do with Google translate, which sucks balls, to have Rosa use atleast some of her mother language. Hey, atleast I tried right? Thank you for all your reviews! ^_^

 **About Butch's age** : Butch is not my character. So I can't possibly know for sure how old he is. Let's start with that before I get myself into trouble. But there are certain things we do know for sure about his age. First of all, we have his wanted poster, which says he's 39 years old. What I know about these posters, historically, is that although they increased the bounties on them as the criminal went uncaught and continued his reign of terror, they never quite cared about changing the little biographical information on it. That, and the age they put on it was usually a rough guess cause how would a local sheriff know the exact age of a man he never met? Which means that Butch was (around) 39 at the time that wanted poster was created, but is older (if not much older) in my story, which takes place a year and a half before the movie's storyline. In my opinion, Butch is in his late 40s. In the movie he says he waited "20 years" to get to his silver, which would make him around 25 at the time he and Latham discovered the mine. I suspect Latham to be about 10 years older than his younger brother. They both may look much older than they really are because of the conditions of living in those times. If people reached their 60s, they were considered ancient. I hope this answered your question.

 **To Voldemort:** No they haven't kissed yet. And you should see my Personal Message inbox for the shit I get for that LOL

Thanks for all the reviews, favs and follows!

 **Chapter 29**

 _Cast me gently into morning. For the night has been unkind._

They walked straight into the next day, leaving the thick forest behind them, as they made their way down the mountainside. Slowly, the trees grew less in number, and the ground became less rocky under their horses' feet. She knew better than to try and start a conversation now. Butch swayed in his saddle, sometimes she feared he might fall off. His left arm hung unused to his side, and blood dripped from the top of his fingers, leaving a trail of red dots on the thin layer of snow that had fallen throughout the night. The material of his coat reflected the light of the sun there where it was stained with blood. And although he had bound the wound with his shawl, cutting off the blood circulation to his arm, she could have sworn the whole spot got bigger as the morning progressed.

She was happy to be back on the prairie, there where she belonged, with nothing to obstruct her view. It was warmer here, the cold less intense than up in the Apache hills. She closed her eyes for a moment to take in the warm rays of the young sun, and somehow felt like everything was going to be alright now, all would be well in time. Perhaps it was some kind of defence mechanism, taking over her worried mind, soothing her in the only way it knew how. Hearing the popping of a cork, she opened her eyes to watch Butch take a deep swig of a bottle that had undoubtedly previously belonged to the late buffalo hunters. He was trying to stop the pain, numbing his senses, but the alcohol only caused him to grow weaker, thinning his blood so that he would lose it even faster.

Collecting her bravery, she stirred up her horse to walk beside him, and inhaled sharply at the pale and sweated face of the wounded outlaw leader, who did his best to ignore her very presence. "We need to get you to a doctor." She spoke softly, not sure if this was the right thing to say at this very moment. He narrowed his eyes at her comment, and scoffed.

"Good luck findin' one." He mumbled, his voice hoarse.

"We'll find one in that town we're going to, won't we? There must be a doctor around there." She argued. He closed his eyes to calm himself, feeling much for taking out his gun and planting a bullet into the skull of this girl that got him nothing but trouble and aggravation. "What's a town without a doctor? Or are you perhaps worried he won't be willing to treat you? You know they have to.. they swore an oath to-.."

"Shut up!" He rounded on her, turning his horse towards hers in a violent movement, causing her own mount to stagger in surprise. "For once in yer goddamn life know when to shut up! Know when to stop! The last thing ah need is hearin' yer voice tellin' me what ah've known for decades! Long before ye even saw the light of day! You have to know when you messed up.. and you messed up! So get back! Behind me! NOW!" as she halted her horse, getting behind him, he grabbed the knob of his saddle to steady himself. "Ah don't want to see you right now. Be smart and stay outta mah sight." He continued pitifully. "Ah don't want to hear another word comin' from yer smart mouth."

Now forced into silence, she followed his swaying trail, fighting back tears of fear, shock and the gnawing hollowness of guilt. She no longer bothered to keep up, and her horse fell back in slow steps. The distance she had created between her and the wounded criminal gave her a false sense of safety. There was no kindness in this man. Just toleration, patience and an almost ancient form of wisdom she could not place. But no one ever claimed the devil was stupid. Everybody always seemed to agree he was smart and cunning.

Never before had her own prairie, her own tall grass fields she called home, felt so foreign, so distant in its never ending enormity. She watched the sun rise till it was straight above her. Her rays cool this time of year, spreading only little warmth. A wind struck up, blowing cold air down from the mountains, the clouds carrying the winter's snow seemed to follow them across the frozen plains. Slowly, Butch and his horse turned into small dots on the horizon. But she felt no desire, or need, to keep up with him. All she needed to do, was follow the trail of blood he left behind in the snow.

They came across a grazing herd of Longhorn cows, closely monitored by a team of cowboys. If they had recognized Butch as a wanted criminal, they didn't show it, and went about their business as was custom of these parts. Dressed in thick woollen coats, their beards long and their faces weathered, they tipped their snow covered hats as she passed them by. They kept their animals moving, as to prevent them from freezing to the ground. She didn't know what to say to them, and so, she nodded back. The idea to ask for help hardly crossed her mind. There was no one that could help her now. She made her way around the moving livestock, dodging the paths of young calves, jumping and running in pure joy, like children seeing snow for the first time. And behind the herd, Butch was waiting for her. His horse halted, its side facing her path. But when he saw she was on her way, he turned his mount toward the horizon again. As always, he was keeping an eye on her, in his own curious and unpredictable way.

He mind wandered to her mother again. Fearing the worst now that the snow had made its entrance. If she was in Colby's windy sheriff's office, behind the bars of a prison cell, there was nothing to protect her from the cold. Eleanor hardly believed mister Dan Reid could be that cruel, but then again, he didn't seem to be making the calls in this situation anymore. That ranger's star on his jacket a pointless reminder of what he no longer represented. She thought of Henry Elton, and felt a wave of rage wash over her, balding her fists despite the freezing cold. She felt her knuckles crack, bending suddenly after holding her horse's reins for so long. She whimpered in pain, and looked down at what she had done to herself. Her fingers a dangerous shade of blue. She sniffled back tears, and tried to spot Butch in the far distance. But the fog of the frozen ground made the air hazy, and obstructed her vision. This goddamned desolated place. This desert of nothing, that played with your mind, and turned men into beasts. She cursed it now. Every rock, every snake, every hot day, and every cold one too. Why would anyone ever decide to live here? What is it that moved men to travel across plains like this one, just to see what was on the other side?

A crudely crafted wooden sign, tilted until it almost touched the ground, came into her view. STANDING FAITH: 2 MILES. POPULATION: 67 NO GUNS ALLOWED BY ORDER OF SHERIFF JONES.

Sheriff Jones was going to have a field day. That much was certain. She had no idea how old this sign was, how many people had passed it, knowing the laws and rules had changed, but not the sign. A little up ahead, Butch waited for her again, and this time, he remained still as she approached. She had seen corpses, during open casket funerals, that looked better than him right now.

"We're about to go into town." He said, panting as if he had just ran a mile. Sweat dripped down his face, which was an ashen grey. "Once we're there, ah need ye te leave me be fer a while. Ye think ye can cough that up fer me?" it almost sounded like he was pleading, begging, to please, keep her distance. Refusal seemed almost torture. "Think yer brave enough?" She nodded, raising her chin proudly, wanting him not to worry about her right now. He studied her for a minute, as if trying to figure out if she was being truthful. "Alright then." He rummaged through his pockets, and handed her a handful of coins. "Tis all ah got." He remarked as she stored it away in several pockets of Frank's jacket. "But it should buy ye a bedroom, a bath, a meal, a drink, whatever the hell it is ye want."

"Can't we share one like we did at Rosa's?" she asked softly. "Maybe you shouldn't be alone with this." He shook his head and coughed, blood covering his lips. Like it was nothing, he wiped it away roughly, impatiently.

"yer goin' te get a room for yerself at the Fifth Massachusetts Grand Hotel directly on your left." He explained her calmly. "Yer going to tell the man runnin' it, ah guy named Claymore, te keep an eye on ye on mah behalf." She listened intently, and waited for him to catch his breath before continuing. "And keep ye there, until ah come te collect ye."

"You want me to ask a man to keep me prisoner?" she asked sceptically. "I hardly think that's necessary."

"Ah'll be the one te decide what's necessary, and what isn't." he told her sternly. His eyes warned her not to fight him right now. Their piercing shade of blue now a pale grey of sickness.

"And how do I know for certain you will come to collect me?" she asked carefully, looking down at her frozen hands.

"Ye don't." he wheezed. "Yer just gonna have te trust me. What choice ye got?" she said nothing, and refused to look at him. "Hm?" he urged her rudely. She bit her bottom lip, and shook her head. "Did ah ever abandon ye before?" she felt tears well up. "Did ah ever break one promise?"

"You will." She nodded to herself, enforcing her crude words. "Some day."

He gazed at her tiredly. "some day." He told her. "Not today." Thinking he had said about enough to appease her fears, he turned his horse away from her, urged it into a gallop, and took off into the hazy fog of winter. Now truly left to her own defence, the cold suddenly seemed more intense, and she shivered violently, huddling into the collar of Frank's thin jacket. She decided to take her time entering the town. Thinking over what she was going to say to anyone asking her a question about who she was, and where she came from, and who she travelled with. Two miles seemed half a day's ride. And the cold followed her like an unwanted dog.

Then finally, the wooden structures of the small town erected in front of her. Like Colby, it lay in the middle of nowhere, vulnerable to all elements and threats the desert had to offer. Due to the coming storm, there was no one out on the streets, and she considered herself lucky to be spared from curious glances. Like Butch had said, the Fifth Massachusetts Grand Hotel was directly on her left. It took on three buildings, and the banisters were decorated in banners bearing Union colours. It seemed to be the largest structure in town. Music could be heard from behind the foggy panelled windows.

Gathering her courage, she dismounted stiffly, her muscles almost frozen into place. With stiff fingers, she tied the reins of her horse around a post, until she noticed the sign next to the front door.

HORSES AROUND THE CORNER.

A badly drawn horse and a hand pointing to the right informed those that could not read of the same message. Untying her exhausted mount, she lead him around the corner of the building, where a big stable was put there for customers. The two big barn doors were closed, but there were lights on inside, and a young boy came out to take her horse from her.

"How many nights?" He asked, petting Bobby's cold muzzle.

"One.. I think." She answered. Her doubt didn't seem to surprise the child, and he nodded, holding up his hand.

"That'll be fifty cents."

Had it been any other day, she would have bargained for a better price, but right now, she didn't have the energy, or willpower, to start an argument. Wordlessly, she paid him, and watched him lead Bobby into the warm, cosy stable, where he would be fine and well taken care off. For a second, she wondered where Butch had brought Annabel. But he never seemed to care much about his loyal mare, and she was probably tied to a hitching post somewhere outside a building.

When Eleanor entered the establishment, the grand downstairs bar turned silent, and heads turned toward the snow covered girl in man's clothing. It was as she had expected then. She was a sight to see, but right now, she didn't care. She made her way toward the long, beautifully made counter. It's top of a shiny copper. A large, well build, coloured man stood behind it, dressed in an Union army uniform. He eyed her with seemingly no emotion on his face. Behind him, several framed pictures of soldiers posing decorated the wooden walls. And several artefacts, all related to the Union army, hung carefully preserved around the main hall, along with the usual hunting trophies of buffalo and deer heads. The large fireplace roared with a giant fire, and all customers had gathered their chairs around it, desperate for warmth. Consequently, the entire counter was hers, and no one would listen to what she had to say to the owner.

Shyly, she placed her hat on the counter, and swallowed thickly before speaking. "Are you Claymore?"

The big man looked down at her like she was a fly he was about to send to the next world with his dishwashing towel. "who wants to know?" His voice was deep, and dark, and told her this was a man not to be messed with.

"I came here with Butch Cavendish. And he's got a message for you." The man said nothing. "Do you want to hear it?" No answer. His uncooperative manner started to bug her, and she sighed, gathering her bravery. "He wants you to know I'll be staying over for tonight. I can pay. But he wants you to keep.. an eye on me.. until he returns."

The man raised one dark eyebrow, seemingly unimpressed. "And when will that be?"

She swallowed thickly. "I don't know. He's in town, but I don't know where he's staying. But I-"

"If he in town. I know where he be staying." The man interrupted her. "And if he don't want you to know where that be. You will not hear it from me."

She let out an annoyed huff. "Fine. Be that way. Both of you." She rummaged through her pockets, taking out some coins. "How much do I owe you for tonight?"

"Bedroom is two dollars. Company another two dollars. Any drink one Dollar. What will it be?"

She placed three dollars on the counter. "I would be delighted with a cup of warm milk." She ordered. Taking his time, he picked up the coins, and put them in his pockets.

"Do I look like a dairy cow to you?" He asked. "I don't serve milk. Much less if it's warmed."

She rubbed her tired eyes. "Fine. Give me whatever you think I'd like." Minutes later, a shot glass of whiskey was roughly clanked in front of her, spilling most of its contents on the copper counter. With her order, came a set of keys.

"Room six is yours for tonight. No company after midnight, no horses in the rooms, if I hear complaints about noise, I'll tear off your head and feed it to the Chinaman's pigs." He told her. Giving her the same set of rules he entertained for any customer.

She grabbed the keys, offended by his treatment, and chucked back her drink without breaking eye contact. "You ever got someone who tried to bring their horse into their room?"

He refilled her glass slowly. "You'd be surprised."

She chuckled and placed another two dollars for him to take, before turning around in her tall bar stool, taking in her surroundings more calmly. The men by the fireplace still shot her curious glances over their shoulders, and undoubtedly discussed her unusual form in hushed tones. The women that kept them company were dressed in their fineries, and giggled at her appearance. All in all, it was the same sort of setting as Rosa's fort. But the mood was more unforgiving, more judgemental. And where Rosa had tried everything in her power to make her feel welcome, these people did their outmost best to make her feel like a freak that didn't belong here, or anywhere. The men weren't criminals. They were cow herders. Much like she had seen on her way here. This wasn't a town ran by outlaws. It wasn't that transparent. This was a town with a secret agenda. And it was never clear whether you talked to a friend or a foe. With this knowledge, this town seemed worse than any other place she had ever been to.

She turned back to Claymore, who was now drying a stack of freshly washed shot glasses, still eyeing her with the same unforgiving expression. "Where can I get something to eat?" she asked softly. Taking his time, Claymore finished drying and polishing his glass, and put it behind him with the others. All as spotless as the one he just added.

"How long have you been travelling with the captain?" He asked.

She tilted her head at his question, puzzled by his knowledge of Butch's military past. And then it hit her. Behind him, on the decorated wall, was a photo of a much younger looking Butch, dressed in a military uniform, proudly standing next to a much younger looking Claymore, and several other men she didn't recognize.

"You were one of his men." She concluded, more to herself than to the man in front of her. He nodded slowly. She smiled despite herself, having discovered yet another piece of the puzzle that made the man she had reluctantly put her trust in. "He looked so different." She added softly, gazing at the black and white photo.

"He's the same." Claymore corrected her calmly. "Be the world that's different." With that, he walked away, done with their conversation. He abandoned his counter without warning, and disappeared behind a door. Leaving the tired girl with her new found puzzle piece. She sipped her drink in quiet humility, no longer complaining that she was once again forced to drink something she absolutely loathed. In fact, for now she welcomed its strong, numbing taste. It dulled her senses in a pleasant, welcome nothingness. Emptying her mind, and at the same time, brought her back to earth. She was unable to tear her eyes from the photo. Butch stared back at her with a weary expression she had come to know so well. It wasn't the war that gave him those empty eyes. It was something she didn't know anything about. Something that went unspoken, something he hid behind the wall of his inner self, never to be seen by anyone.

Finally able to look away, she dropped her eyes to her half empty glass, making it spin between her fingers on the smooth copper top. Lost in thought, she didn't realize the commotion behind her. A young man was dared and taunted into making conversation with her. And was pushed in her direction by much older colleagues. He chuckled and laughed, already half drunk, as he made his way across the saloon, putting on his hat and dusting off his trousers.

He slammed his elbow on the counter top, trying to put on his most impressive pose, leaning casually next to the girl. "Howdy" He started, full of confidence this was going to work out. Her numbed senses caused his words to reach her with some delay, and she frowned at the rude volume he used, and the sheer annoyance of the situation. Stunned by her silence, he looked over his shoulder to his buddies for help. They made movements to tell him to try again, keep trying. He cleared his throat, now made nervous. "Ah said howdy." He tried again. "Sure aint ladylike te keep a man waitin' like this."

She downed her drink and looked at him. His goofy smile only increasing her aggravation. "You want ladylike?" she asked. His smile faded slowly. "How about I tell you to go to Hell? Is that ladylike enough for you? Cause I doubt any real lady would say something else to the likes of you."

His smile turned into a frown of offense, and he changed his pose quickly. "Well, dog gone it. How dare ye say somethin' like that?! Women aren't even supposed te be in a place like this! Don't matter if ye parade around in trousers like some tom boy!"

"Get lost." She said again. "Or get in trouble. Your call."

He huffed, letting out a breathy chuckle. "Trouble? The only trouble ah foresee is the poor man blockheaded enough to marry ye! He's in for trouble, alright!" she said nothing, her rage building slowly. "Girls like yerself should be put in jail if ye ask me. Ye aint man enough to call yerself a whore, but ye trudge around in pants till someone had it, and all that's waitin' fer ye is gettin' yer honor stolen in some alley, give life te another bastard that'll turn out to be some criminal." Again, she tried to concentrate on her breathing, as the insults rained down on her. "It's women like yerself that give these parts a bad name." His voice had turned into a menacing whisper. "It's women that doomed the earth ye know."

She had it. without realizing, she reached over the counter, grabbed a bottle, and slammed it as hard as she could across his face. He screamed in pain and terror as glass shatters dug their way into his skin. He fell to the wooden floor, writhing around in the puddle of blood and booze. The other men got to their feet, knocking over their chairs, to come to his aid, and teach her a lesson. Still holding on the neck of the bottle, she held it in front of her as a weapon.

"I'm with the Cavendish gang!" she called out to the group of furious cow herders, who stopped dead in their tracks. The sheer power Butch's last name held over anyone who called the west their home, now manifested itself to her benefit. And she felt tall, she felt strong, she felt untouchable. "Anyone who messes with me.. answers to him." if looks could kill, she would have been dead. But looks was all she got. She dropped the bottle neck to the floor, and sat back down, turned her back toward the crowd and smiled to herself. She just tossed herself over the edge, landing harshly into the outlaw world, and there she'd stay.

R&R!


	30. Chapter 30

Wooooow.. sorry about the long wait, guys. I promise the next update won't take this long.

Chapter 30

"Get Jones"

The words were whispered behind her back. Sheriff Jones did not tolerate violence in his town. She remembered the sign she had read right before entering this small village. And she would now meet the man she had only feared meeting because of the criminal she travelled with. She had feared for him, and not herself. Because what would a sheriff want with her anyway? She was a girl. Just a girl. But she had ruined that for herself. She was a violator of a law she had lived by all her life.

The alcohol was sinking in. She felt warm, despite the cold air making its entrance because someone was holding the door open. More people had gathered behind her. She listened to the soft wailing of the young man she had attacked. There had been voices calling for the doctor, and someone had ran out to get him, but when he returned with the message the doctor wasn't in his office, and was nowhere to be found, the young man had to wait. He had been given something to drink, and his friends were with him. She couldn't quite say if she regretted her actions or not. The booze turned her mind into a slurry mess of sounds and images, and she felt like sleeping. Just to put her head down on the smooth countertop and wait till this nightmare had passed. Butch would come get her, and make everything right again, like she had seen him do over and over again. He would come eventually. He wouldn't leave her here, would he?

Would he?

Slowly, the alcohol altered her thoughts of bravery, and turned them into a gnawing feeling of insecurity, and after a while she felt the fear building in the pit of her stomach. How many men were behind her now? She didn't dare to peer over her shoulder. She hadn't done so ever since she broke that bottle. She shivered, but not from cold. More spurs and heavy boots entered the facility. Men talking to eachother in hushed voices. Figuring out what to do with her.

Claymore only returned from the backroom when someone called for him. He came, but didn't answer any questions. Nothing had taken place on his watch, he had purposely made himself useful in the awaiting trial. She wasn't sure this was the kind of protection Butch had envisioned Claymore to give her, but for now, it seemed the big veteran was her only friend. He stood in front of her, peering at the growing group of spectators. She looked up at him briefly, sweat dripping down her forehead.

"How many people are behind me?" she whispered.

He met her eyes after a short silence. "Be everybody now."

After that, she whimpered in fear and looked down at her empty glass. She had downed about four of those. Thinking the liquor gave her strength. She had been so sure of herself moments ago. Why did it change so suddenly? Violent shivers shook her body, and all she heard was her own trembling breathing. When she sheriff entered the saloon, the frantic whispering died down slightly. She wondered what he looked like. Was he a man in a suit like Elton? Did he resemble more of a scrubby outlaw like most lawmen did? He asked questions, and they were answered by various witnesses. His voice sounded old, but not too old. Low and raspy, he was a definite smoker, the tar in his lungs had gradually altered his voice. She half expected him to come up to her. To be the first one she would have to answer to. To perhaps get a chance to explain her side of the story. But he did no such thing. After the two longest minutes of her life, he said one thing out loud.

"Get the reverend."

She frowned in confusion, and looked up at Claymore for help, but he no longer granted her the privilege of eye contact. He was impassive. It took forever for the reverend to arrive, but when he did, the room went deadly quiet. His slow, calculated steps, echoed through the floor boards. He wore spurs, like he was the next cowhand in town. He was in no hurry, and walked like he did this every day, almost bored with the situation already. The sheriff was tapping the nose of his boot on the floor in impatience, he clearly disagreed with the reverend's slow response.

"Took you long enough." He grumbled to the reverend.

"Not everyone's idle on a Friday night, Bill." The reverend's voice was much lighter, but it had a sharp edge to it, like he was a man to be reckoned with. "Pyjama party with the locals?"

"Your old pal's in town." The sheriff spat disrespectfully. "And brought this troublemaker with him. She claims to be part of the Cavendish gang." The reverend said nothing, and so the sheriff continued. "She broke Matthew's jaw with a bottle. Ah've never seen anything like this."

"ah cin never eat normally again!" Matthew's mangled, broken voice made her jump a little. "Look at me!"

"Quiet, Matthew!" The sheriff had enough. "Quit your wailing or I'll break yer neck too!" the young boy said nothing more. "Git rid of her. And the trouble that she took with her. Ahm sure ye know where te find him." there was a short pause. "Father." The sheriff spat crudely.

"You want me to throw out a child in a snowstorm, Bill?" there was no answer. "I'm not about to do such a thing. Besides, I never knew Cavendish to allow women in his gang, let alone children."

"You're telling me you're willing to subject this town to the terror of your old friends?!" The sheriff sounded angry, and snarled his words impatiently. This was a discussion that had taken place between the two men before, and it had driven the sheriff into a state of furious frustration. "Ah will shoot this girl right here, right now if you don't make them leave, Brady! By God I will!"

"I wouldn't make such promises if I were you." The reverend's voice was still calm as water. "You already owe God way too much." The last remark served as a clear warning, given in a calm and calculated manner. The sheriff was quiet, and the next thing she heard were the reverend's slow footsteps approaching her, taking a seat next to her. He sat down, like it was just a normal day, and smiled at Claymore politely. "Coffee, please." He ordered, before turning to look at the girl, who did her best not to look at him. A steaming cup was placed in front of him moments later, and he shoved it toward the shivering young woman.

She peered into the black beverage, the surface so smooth she could see her own reflection in it. The very scent of it made her nauseous, and the gesture made everything all the more confusing. "I don't like coffee." She whispered, still anger in her voice.

"If you're tough enough to drink this." The reverend lectured, fishing her empty shot glass from the bar, and toying with it in his hand. "You're tough enough to drink coffee." He placed the glass back in front of her. "Or are you not so tough after all?"

Feeling challenged, she picked up the warm mug with shivering hands, and took a careful sip. The hot drink fell into her stomach mercilessly. She had no idea what she was trying to proof to this man, but she had already taken it too far not to continue. She downed the whole cup, and placed it back on its saucer with a loud clang. She swallowed the last remaining big gulp that she had saved up in her mouth, feeling her body protest against the very thought of handing this over to her empty stomach as well. When she swallowed, she felt herself turn a sickening shade of green, and the room turned in front of her. But the reverend pretended not to notice her displeasure, and shoved the empty cup toward Claymore, who was still a silent witness to the whole thing.

"Another one, please." The reverend ordered. In horror, she watched the mug being refilled. "A clouded mind cannot speak." He finally explained to her. "I want your head cleared before we continue this circus." The last sentence was spoken so softly, she was sure he was trying to keep the sheriff out of their conversation.

While sipping her second round of strong coffee, she finally decided to peer at the man next to her. Finally made so curious about his appearance she couldn't keep up her act no more. He was a tall, lean man. With dark greying hair that fell to his shoulders in ragged strands, much like Butch's. They were about the same age too, she reckoned. His hands were rough, and heavily veined, like he had done more in his life but study and preach. When he turned his head to meet her curious gaze, she couldn't help but inhale sharply. The other half of his face was a mangled, scarred mess of burn marks. It had affected his eye too. One of them was brown, but the other, on the scarred part, was a pale, milky white. He was half blind, and his injuries had caused him his eyesight.

She quickly averted her gaze, to not seem rude, and felt herself turn a bright shade of red. He chuckled softly at her childish behaviour, and ordered himself a drink as well. When it was put in front of him, he picked up the glass and chucked back its contents in one short haul. For a while it seemed their conversation was over, but then he continued.

"You know it's a dangerous thing to claim to be part of a gang of outlaws." He whispered. "I never met a person who got better from it. It's not telling the truth, for starters. And then there's facing the consequences of actually being treated like you're part of a gang." She realized he didn't believe her. "I'm sure all that wasn't your intention when you spread that lie around, was it?"

"I'm not lying." She argued. "I've been travelling with them for days now. I'm part of his gang as well as any other member."

"Is that so now." He didn't seem convinced. "Then that is your own misfortune. I cannot help you if you keep up this act. I know Cavendish, you're the last one on earth he'd take up in this gang. You don't exactly match the profile." He ordered himself another refill, and chucked back this one as fast as the first. She watched his movements with a mixture of curiosity and frustration.

"And I suppose Frank does match the profile?" she dared, raising one eyebrow in disbelief. "Or is Jack Barret more of the profile you're referring to perhaps?" He looked at her, searching for her eyes, and she felt his gaze hit her deepest core. "Cavendish took me with him when railroad sharks burned down my house." She explained, her voice frantic as she fought back tears, brought on by the memories of her father's burning farm. "I've been everywhere. The mountains, Rosa's fort, because I have nowhere else to go. And you dare to tell me I don't match the profile?"

He tilted his head at the girl getting more and more upset. "You met Rosa?"

"Yes, I did." She wiped away her tears roughly, not wanting to cry in front of this man. "She gave me a book when we left. I know the men that are after me found her because of me. And you have no idea how heavy the weight of that guilt feels. And I pray every night that she's okay."

The reverend's face had paled, and his expression had changed into that of a man listening intently. "Who are these men that are after you?" his voice had darkened.

She pursed her lips to calm herself. "I don't know them all by name." she started. "But they're lead by Henry Elton. I think they're mercenaries. Or.. Cavendish thinks they are. Hired by the railroad. They want me, and they want Cavendish. We wouldn't be in this town if he hadn't gotten hurt because of me. We wouldn't be sitting around if it was up to us. But he's.. badly wounded and right now.. we're sitting ducks." The reverend said nothing, and just gazed at her impassively. "So if he's a friend of you, then help us. Help me."

"He's no friend of mine." The reverend replied. "Not anymore, he isn't."

"Then you've sentenced us both to death." She shot back. "Is that what you want?"

The man looked away from her pleading stare, and took to peering at the photo of Butch, Claymore and a bunch of other men, a long time ago. "Where is he?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. He didn't want me to know. Somewhere in town."

"Be the Chinaman's house." Claymore mumbled gruffly. "There where no decent folk will come." The reverend nodded in agreement, and ordered another shot of whiskey to gather his bravery.

"Today, Brady!" The sheriff's sharp tone made her flinch. "She leaves or she hangs! What's it gonna be?!"

She still didn't dare to peer over her shoulder, and instead took to staring pleadingly at the calm reverend sitting beside her. She trembled as she watched him contemplate his next move.

"You're in a lot of trouble." He finally decided on telling her, finishing his drink with incredible speed. "You've come from far to find it and you did. I don't know what on earth compelled you to follow a man like Cavendish but be that as it may.." He sighed deeply. "I'll help you and that old coyote one more time." With that being said, he turned around slowly to face the impatient Sheriff and half of the town's people.

"This young woman wants to confess." He said to the audience behind them.

"Wonderful." The sheriff grumbled, his hands in his sides. "Is she part of that gang or not? Is Cavendish in town? Do I need to call for reinforcements?"

"To God, Jones." The reverend continued. "She wants to confess to God. And not the sheriff. That's her right as a Christian, and you cannot deny her that."

The sheriff almost rolled his eyes. Almost, if he hadn't been surrounded by people that visited the church every day, and laid their faith into this good for nothing priest. Instead he growled softly, and muttered something under his breath. "She aint leavin' this saloon before ah got clarity on her motives. Ah want to know if Cavendish is in town, or not."

The reverend chuckled mockingly. "Come now, Bill. You see gang members everywhere. You cannot possibly believe this child to be part of a gang so vicious as that of Cavendish. I thought you'd be wiser than that." The Sheriff narrowed his eyes at the insult, but decided not to turn the town's folk against himself.

"You get her to confess, and then you rapport back to me immediately. I want to know that girl's story before midnight, Brady. Did ah make myself clear here?" He pointed a warning finger at the holy man, but didn't wait for a reply. He turned to make his leave, and took his deputies with him.

Eleanor said nothing as she watched the men leave. "What happens next?" she asked.

"It's time to confess. Come on." He stood up from his bar stool, and waited for her to get up. He steadied her by placing a hand on her shoulder, leading her through the crowd of spectators that shot her dirty looks. The women, dressed in bonnets in faded colours, shook their heads as she passed. Their hands to their heart, as if the whole situation was just too much for them to comprehend. The reverend lead her out of the saloon, and she breathed in the cold, crisp winter air. The snow had started, and had covered the dusty streets in a thick layer of white fluff in less than two hours. Thick flakes twirled down from the night sky, and she peered up at the grey blanket of cold clouds hovering over the town. They had failed to reach the rest of the gang before the first snow fall. And she wondered if they were together, waiting for their leader to arrive, and perhaps questioning what had happened along the way. She hoped they were alright, and in a better place than she and Butch.

The church was at the end of the town's main street. It was the only building that had been painted white, and it was almost invisible in the snow that surrounded it. A small chapel like she knew so well. They basically all looked the same, no matter where you went. The town's people they had left behind, had followed them out of the saloon. And watched the girl and the reverend make their way down the street, into the church, of which the two heavy wooden doors were closed behind them.

There was nothing inside the chapel. No benches, no altar, not even candles or chandeliers. It was a vacant building that only resembled a church from the outside. She halted by the entrance to take in the strange decoration, or rather lack thereof.

"Pity, really." The reverend started, taking off his black cloak to hang it over her shoulders. She wrapped it around herself immediately, and thanked him quietly. "When this town was build, it was a lovely church. With benches and a beautiful altar."

"What happened?" she asked.

"Thieves." The reverend explained calmly. "They came in here, a few years after the town was build. Took everything. Killed the former reverend too." He looked down at her shocked face. "Atleast it gave us a good idea of what to name the town."

Standing Faith. Because the chapel had no church benches to sit in. The worship took place in a standing position. Despite the sadness of the situation, she let out a breathy chuckle at the simplicity of its solution. She watched the reverend make his way to where the altar had once been, and light the small fireplace. She shivered as the small church started to heat up, and finally felt how tired she really was.

"It's funny really." Brady started, his back still to her as he put more logs on the fire. "Butch's injuries explain why the doctor let poor Matthew the cowhand wait his turn. It's a first come, first serve policy with old doctor Dawson, bless his heart."

She swallowed thickly thinking of Butch's shot wound, almost afraid to tell the reverend it was her fault he got shot. "Cavendish' injuries were quite more severe." She said with a small voice. The reverend didn't respond, and she shifted her weight from one frozen leg to the other, needing him to listen to her. "It was my fault too." She finally said, biting her lip as she felt herself tear up.

The reverend didn't move for a moment, and then slowly peered over his shoulder to look at her. "Did you shoot him?"

Her eyes widened at the very thought of doing such a thing, and she shook her head frantically. "Of course not!" she said, almost offended that the man would think such a thing of her, even though he barely knew her. "No.. I..I got between him and a child. He was going to kill a young boy. And I stopped him, and then the boy shot him instead."

The reverend made a face. "Shot by a child." He chuckled darkly. "He's not going to thank you for that one."

"Then what was I supposed to do?" she asked, exasperated. "Just let him kill a young boy?"

"I don't know what I would have done in such a situation." The reverend confessed, getting up from the wooden floor. "But I know Cavendish went through worse when he was but a boy. Sometimes getting shot isn't the worst fate awaiting a man." She said nothing, and shivered from exhaustion. "I'm going over to see him now." Brady continued. She looked up at him. "I want you to stay here and not open that door for anyone but me."

"I want to come with you." She argued, taking a step in his direction. "I want to see him too. I'm worried about him."

"I'll send him your well-wishes." The reverend said calmly, holding up his hand to stop her. "But you're going to stay here and wait for my return. I know he wanted to be alone with this for a reason, which I do not pretend to understand, but I do know him. It's better for you to stay put and listen to him." defeated, she swallowed thickly, and took a step back. She nursed him back to health before, and she remembered how he tolerated her caring more than once. But his illness had not been caused by her, she reminded herself. It was her fault he got shot. It was her fault they missed their rendezvous with the rest of the gang. It was her fault they were forced to linger in this town, with him set on inactive. Angry with herself, she nodded, and looked away.

The reverend placed his warm hand on her shoulder, and gave it a comforting squeeze. "Get some rest. I'll be back as soon as I can." With that, he turned around to leave. Leaving her behind in the deserted chapel with his heavy cloak around her shivering body. But with the wind howling outside, beating against the wooden structure of the church, she couldn't bear to stay in this building alone by herself. Not with her mind wrecked with worry.

"I'm coming with you!" she cried out, hurrying after him as he stood in the doorway. She was about to get the lecture of a lifetime but she didn't care. "You cannot keep me in here. Claymore couldn't, and neither can you. I'm coming with you. I'll do it without your knowledge if you refuse me, I'll climb up the roof if I have to! I will not be left alone again! Never again!" Tears of panic rolled down her pale face, her cheeks a healthy pink now that she was warming up. "Cavendish will tell you all about how stubborn I can be. I will come after you, I swear I will."

The reverend chuckled at her determination. "I'm sure you will."

"Then let me come with you." she pleaded. "I'm wrecked with worry. I won't rest until I know he's alright. This is all my fault. Give me a chance to make it right."

After a moment of hesitation, the reverend gave in, and nodded. "Alright." He sighed. "This should be an interesting reunion." He already dreaded the moment he had to explain to Cavendish he couldn't keep this child out of his bedroom.

I promise the next chapter will involve more hurt/comfort :) R&R


	31. Chapter 31

To Janelle: Thank you for your super sweet review! Sadly, copied links don't work on this site. So I didn't get your email. You can always reach me on DeviantArt under the same name. Thank you again!

To Silvian: Totally on purpose. Thank you for your review!

Chapter 31

Because of the dreadful weather, the streets were deserted. And Eleanor could follow reverend Brady without being seen. Her breath was visible, and reflected the light of the pale moon trying to peer through the snow filled clouds. The snow didn't cease, and she had a hard time not to slip on the already in ice covered ground. The bottoms of her boots were made of smooth leather, not build for walking in a snow covered landscape. The world was deadly quiet. Like it could do when the snow started falling. As if mother nature was in mourning, and commanded all the birds to be silent. They left the good part of town behind them, here the outsiders gathered on dirty porches in creaking rocking chairs. They followed the girl and priest without moving their heads. Women in ripped dresses and thin muddy faces leaned against doorposts, crossing their bare arms over their chests defiantly at the strangers coming into their part of town. Eleanor knew these were working girls, but they somehow looked worse off than the girls at Rosa's fort. She knew Colby had a rough site to it too, but she had never dared to venture there. Her mother had warned her about it when she was just a little girl, still curious and naïve.

They entered a narrow alley, the two buildings, both sealed shut with boarded windows, nearly touched at the top. They were crooked, and badly build. The snow on the ground had already been mixed with filthy mud, and she made a face in disgust at the horrible smell that hit her full force. The alley ended in a backyard kind of place, where pigs turned the earth and snow upside down in search of food. She had expected Butch to search for refuge in a brothel of some sort, but this didn't resemble any brothel she knew of. Unless these pigs were to be dressed up every evening.. she cringed at the thought.

The sound of someone chopping up big pieces of meat was the only thing that reminded her she was in fact still inside a town, and had not entered purgatory. Under a crudely set up stall, a large Asian man wearing a blood stain covered butcher's apron, chopped up what seemed to her to be pig after pig. Giant barrels, filled to the rim with various body parts, decorated the premises. This all explained the disgusting smell. The man noticed his visitors, but didn't seem to care. He eyed them suspiciously, but never ceased wielding his butcher's axe, shoving the newly cut pieces into their designated barrels. But to her own distaste, this was exactly the place Brady had been looking for, and he walked up the big man with confident strides.

"I need to speak to Cavendish." He said.

The axe chopped off a pig's hind leg, and the man looked at Brady like he wished it had been his face. "He not here." He barked. "I don't know him."

Brady tilted his head and gave the man a bored look. "Are we going to go through this again, Hai Cheng? Surely, you've got more important things to attend to tonight. Business as usual. It's Friday. Place must be packed. I can smell the stuff from here."

"No stuff here." Hai Cheng barked, shoving a pig's head into a barrel, its sickening thud when it hit the bottom almost made the girl cowering behind the priest gag. "Only pigs. Pigs and girls."

"Pigs and girls." Brady repeated, nodding in disbelief. "Are you ever going to get tired of this act at all? How long have you been at this, I wonder. Long before I made my entrance into this foul place."

"You go." Hai Cheng said, pointing his butcher's knife toward the exit, the way from which they came. "You have no business here." But Brady didn't move.

"I told you already." He spoke calmly. "I need to speak to Butch Cavendish. We're.. acquainted. We travelled together. A long.. very long time ago." Eleanor looked up at him in surprise. The revelation suddenly making sense to her tired brain.

Hai Cheng didn't seem to be buying his story and narrowed his dark eyes at the smooth talking reverend. "Prove it." He raised his chin at the priest haughtily. In the blink of an eye the reverend had reached into the inside of his long, black coat, pulled out a gun and held it at an inch from Hai Cheng's face.

"Don't make me do this." Brady said coldly. "I'd be the one burying you and I don't feel like digging a hole in the frozen ground big enough to accommodate your frame."

The Chinaman had not expected such a thing, and dropped his butcher's knife as he raised his fat arms above his head in surrender. " No shoot!" He stuttered. "No shoot! I have family in China!"

"Yea." Brady mumbled, putting his revolver back in its holster. "Something tells me they're better off without you." He placed his hand on the shaken girl's shoulder and pushed her forward. "Let's go." He urged her to follow him while they passed Hai Cheng, who still looked visibly shaken from the whole ordeal. They entered an old, badly erected door, for which Brady had to dug slightly to not bump his head. Inside, the smell was even more penetrating. Sheets hung to dry in the narrow hallway, and they both had to find their way through them. It seemed Hai Cheng ran a laundry service as well as a butcher's shop. The whole building seemed to be thrown together in a day, and a thick layer of smoke floated in the air in long, ghostly, strands.

"Where are we?" she whispered. "What is this place?"

"Be quiet. Pretend you're Swedish and don't speak the language." He ordered, never peering over his shoulder as he lead the way through the maze of drying sheets until they reached another door, hidden behind a velvet, and partially faded, red curtain. Behind it, noises emerged. Women wailing, crying, and some screaming. All in Hai Cheng's own language. Men could be heard barking orders to no one in particular, or talk to themselves in hushed tones. "Steady yourself." Brady said to her as he opened the door to let her in. It was as if she had entered hell itself. The next hall, with adjoining rooms with no doors, just the same flea bitten curtains, was a dark, dim lit hell hole. Emaciated Asian women sat on the floor, unconscious, or just barely awake, while dogs and rats scattered around the place. Some customers leaned against the walls, their eyes clouded as if they were somewhere else inside their minds.

"Opium." Brady whispered in her ear, noticing the young woman's shock. "Mankind's worst enemy in these parts. Come on." He lead her further, stepping over several unconscious people like he was used to this. They went passed a man, with the same dazed expression, but he seemed to recognize the reverend.

"Father." He slurred, grabbing Brady's sleeve. "Am ah dead?"

Slowly untangling the man's fingers, Brady sighed. "You might be, Joe. If not, it won't take long before you are." With that less than comforting message, Joe was left to himself again. They entered one of the rooms, decorated with faded canapes. Here, the wealthier clients could smoke their opium, and enjoy the women Hai Cheng provided from the orient. Recently paid cowhands, miners, and wealthy looking men sat on the floor and stared into nothingness as the drugs turned them into real life zombies. A woman dressed in luxurious fineries, reached out to Eleanor, and pet her face like a kitten.

"Pretty." She slurred.

Astonished, Eleanor took a step back, and was quickly pulled in by Brady, closer to his much larger form. "That's Penelope. Wife of a man who struck Gold in the mountains. This is how she spends his fortune." He explained.

"You know all these people." Eleanor said. It wasn't a question, more of a conclusion. The reverend turned to her for the first time since they had entered the establishment, and stared her down with his one good eye.

"They're my flock." He explained bluntly. "You don't get to choose one. You get the flock God appoints to you. Apparently He thought I could make myself useful among this one." He spread his arms, indicating the folks laying around, stoned out of their gorge. "This is why men like Jones will never earn the respect of this town. He pretends this place doesn't exist. But he does need Hai Cheng's pigs from time to time to make someone disappear."

"And the girls?" Eleanor asked with a small voice, looking over her shoulder to the passed out women, laying sprawled out on the filthy floor. Brady was silent for a moment, following her gaze with obvious reluctance.

"An unfortunate sign of the times." He whispered. "Sold into slavery by their own dirt poor parents. A female child is worth little more than her worth on the market." She swallowed thickly, convinced there couldn't be a fate worse than this. "This is not your world." He whispered into her ear comfortingly. "Cavendish knows this. Why do you think he didn't want you to be with him right now?"

She felt herself tear up at what she could have been spared from had she only listened, had she not doubted Butch's motives, his plea to let him be. "why would he be here?" she spoke softly. "What's to be found in a place like this?"

"A cheap painkiller." Brady answered. "Come on." He gently forced her to keep moving, to leave the room behind, in which silence ruled. She had a hard time pulling her eyes off the sight burned into her skull forever. Of these unfortunate souls, hardly human in their state of drug induced coma. Brady led her to the back of the room, to another door, this time closed, and knocked. No one answered.

"Cavendish?" He called. "It's Brady. Are you in there?"

Still occupied with looking around, Eleanor hardly noticed no one came to open the door. The walls of the building were so thin, that the pigs could be seen roaming around outside through the cracks in the wood. They stuck their snouts underneath the bottom of the boards, and sniffed the air, trying to get in. She could only imagine what happened when one of them succeeded, pigs were known to chew on anything laying on the ground, be it dead or alive. After a few more minutes of silence, the door was unlocked, and an elderly man peered around the doorway. He wore little round Golden spectacles on his nose, under which a large white moustache quivered from his heavy breathing. His face was covered in sweat, and he had opened the collar of his vest and shirt.

"Reverend?" He asked, almost offended to find the man in a place like this. "What on God's good earth compels you to be in a place like this?"

"Doctor Dawson." Brady greeted, tipping his wide black hat. "I need to speak to Cavendish."

"Well." The doctor peered over his shoulder for a moment. "He's in no place to be speaking to anyone at the present time, father. How do you..?" He caught sight of the girl hiding behind the tall reverend's shoulder, and frowned. "What the.. Who is that?"

"She's a friend of him." Brady cleared up. "And of me. I convinced Hai Cheng to let us in. I can be.. very persuasive if need be."

The doctor shot him a bored look. "I cannot believe that man keeps falling for the same trick you pull on him every time you wish to gain access to this establishment." He mocked. "If you two must know, mister Cavendish needs absolute rest, and cannot be bothered right now. I'm truly still here to make sure these darned pigs don't get to him. Figure he won't be thanking me if he woke up with his toes chewed off."

Brady chuckled gruffly. "Why don't you let us release you from your pig guarding duties, doctor? There's a young man waiting for your assistance in the Grand Massachusetts. I believe he's got a broken jaw, and quite some glass splinters to be picked out by hands more skilled than those of his friends."

The doctor didn't look sure to leave his patient behind, but opened the door a little further nonetheless, fixing his shirt and collar in an attempt to make himself look more presentable. The cuffs of his white shirt were stained red with blood. "I.. I suppose I should make myself useful somewhere else about now." He said, not quite sure of himself. "I'm not happy about it. A patient in this state needs constant monitoring. Then again, I suppose he's not completely by himself right now. Though I beg to differ."

"Will he live?" Brady asked, his voice void of any emotion.

The doctor waited a little before answering. "If he survives the night, he will live." He swallowed thickly when he caught sight of Eleanor's shocked expression. "I'm sorry, miss. I have no better news to give you. Although mister Cavendish himself seems to be quite oblivious to the severity of his condition."

"Tell Hai Cheng he can come in ere and suck me if he wants his money right now!" To Eleanor's relief, and despite his foul words, the sound of Butch's gruff voice was a most welcome addition to the current situation. "Ah aint payin' four bucks for an overdosed chink. Not even fer two."

The doctor pursed his lips in agitation and shot a look over his shoulder. "The reverend Brady and a young woman are here to see you, mister Cavendish." Butch didn't answer, and Brady decided he had waited long enough.

"Wait here." He told the young woman, and pushed his way past the reluctant doctor. He opened the door with the tip of his black boot, to reveal Butch sitting in a bathtub holding an opium pipe. The water, steam rising from its hot surface, had a dark ruby colour, as Butch's recently stitched bullet wound still drizzled blood into the tub. But he didn't seem bothered by it. At his sides, there were two Asian women, constantly refilling the pipe with a fresh batch of drugs. They smoked it themselves, to get it going, and then offered it to the outlaw leader, whose eyes were glazed over from intoxication.

"Joshua.. Daniel.. Brady.." Butch slurred at the reverend, a mocking smile on his pale face. "Ah'll be damned. In a goddamn hog joint too. Ah see some things just aint never gonna change." He let out a low chuckle. "Ye still wearin' the monkey suit ah see. Ye here to find one of ya lost sheep?"

Letting out a tired sigh, the priest closed the door behind him and looking around the dim lit den Hai Cheng had prepared for the criminal. He took off his hat and smoothed back his long hair. The air was hot and stuffy, causing him to sweat. "Actually I'm here to return one it seems." Butch tilted his head in question, the obvious hint not reaching his clouded brain. "Taking women up in your gang, Butch? I see some things do change."

"The hell ye blabberin' about." Butch mumbled, and reached up to rub his eyes, trying to stir himself awake. "Git out, Josh. Yer ruining mah buzz."

The doctor had joined the party by now, and seemed ready to wrestle the reverend to the floor. "This man needs rest!" He huffed, standing up to the much taller Brady, who didn't seem very impressed by the frantic man of medicine. "He all but lost almost half of his entire blood supply. He shouldn't even be in a bath tub right now.. but unfortunately he insisted and my advice was ignored." He gave Butch an almost accusing glare, to which the outlaw just raised an eyebrow.

"Cold outside." Butch shrugged a little, gazing at the ceiling like there was nothing going on. The girls at his side, in their drugged mental state, had slowly taken to washing down his chest with filthy, balled up rags. They knew what they were here for, and they also knew what happened to them if they refused. They seemed barely there, barely conscious as they performed the dreadful tasks they had been ordered to do. Both skin and bones, kept quiet through drugs, the women ignored the conversation.

"I want to know what's going on with that young woman standing outside this door, frantic with worry about you." The reverend spoke calmly. "She gave me this confusing story about a child shooting you."

The doctor, huffing in indignity, stared at Butch as if the biggest cover up in history had just been revealed. "You told me it was a grown man! And there were three of them!"

Butch grumbled and shot the doctor a warning glare. "Ye shut yer trap er ah'll make sure ye'll be stitching up yerself tonight." The doctor continued mumbling his incantations underneath his breath, offended by the undignified way he was being treated, but Butch had enough. "Get out of ere Doc. Ye had yer fun sticking needles in mah skin, now get goin'"

The physician knew better than to refuse or hesitate. He quickly closed his bag and muttered his goodbyes to the reverend, and accusations to Butch, before scurrying out of the door. Outside, he almost bumped into Eleanor, who only barely managed to jump out of the way when the doctor came out.

"How is he, doctor?" she asked, but the man didn't stop. He said nothing to her, and simply moved past her, clutching his bag tightly to his chest as he almost tripped over his own feet trying to leave the horrible establishment as quickly as possible. A little stunned at his behaviour, Eleanor was left behind, the door in front of her still closed.

Getting impatient, Brady shifted his weight from one leg to the other. "Cut the crap, Bartholomew. Why are there children involved in this?"

"There's always children involved." Butch shot back, eyeing the reverend menacingly after using his full given name. "In goddamn everythin'. Ye haven't been chasing God around long enough if ye still don't know that."

"Who is that woman?" Brady asked again. "Where does she come from?"

"What's it te ye." Butch mumbled, getting fed up with the conversation. "Why don't ye just stay out of it and go polish yer chapel, eh?" He looked at one of the Asian women as if he only just noticed her, and seemed almost mesmerized by her presence.

"I'm already into it." The reverend argued, trying to keep Butch's attention away from the two girls still washing him down. His intoxicated mind easily distracted. "Whoever she is, she slammed a bottle into a cowhand's face and albeit ruined it forever. Jones wants her hide. And yours too."

"Jones don't know ahm ere." Butch mumbled, still staring at the woman closest to him, though his mesmerized gaze had turned into something darker.

"That girl you send into that saloon threw back three shots and started blubbering she's part of your gang. And that you would punish anyone coming near her." Brady sneered. "All that after that very same cowhand came on to her with.. dishonest intentions."

"Well then he deserved it te have a bottle chucked in his face, didn't e'?" Butch slurred, looking up at the reverend. "Ah don't give a damn about that gurl getting' erself into trouble."

"You both are in trouble." The reverend explained. "You need to leave. Tonight, if you can. And take that woman with you. Unless you wish her dead." He shook his head. "This town changed. Jones isn't what he used to be. He's getting paid by the Pinkertons to clean the streets off people like you."

Butch was silent for a moment, gazing off into nothingness, like the priest's words barely reached him, then he scoffed. "Then he aint doin' such an admirable job. Ah aint never seen more low lives in one place." He cringed slightly when his wound was agitated by a certain movement, and shifted in the tub. "Jones can have here fer all ah care." He continued coldly. "Ahm done with er. Ah was gonna leave er here anyway. Now git out, Brady. Don't make me tell ye twice." He looked away, back to his girls and his opium.

Defeated, Brady sighed. "Even if it was truly her fault you got shot, like she told me, I don't think that would be a valid reason for you to hand her over to a trigger happy moron like Jones."

"Then ye thought wrong." Butch remarked coldly, and laid back his head on the rim of the tub in an attempt to relax. He jumped, letting out a deep growl, when one of the women had unintentionally touched the bullet lodged in his ribcage. "Ow! Get off me!" With a violent movement, he pushed the scared girl out of his way, letting her fall to the wooden floor with a pitiful squeal. "Ahm in enough goddamn agony without ye addin' te it! Ye too! Get off! Leave me alone!" He barked at the second girl, who quickly ceased her duties and scurried out of his reach, cowering in a corner of the small room. "Ye all get yer hands off me." He mumbled, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

Like a silent spectator, Brady watched the girls huddle up together for comfort, and slowly brought his eyes back to the wounded criminal. "Is Hai Cheng going to mysteriously lose one of his girls tonight?" He asked darkly, finally getting Butch's attention back. "Or have you parted ways with that curse?"

Butch narrowed his eyes at the reverend. "The only curse ah parted ways with is you and that goddamn bible of yers."

"I see." Brady nodded. "And the girl outside?"

The outlaw's expression softened slightly, and he was sure it didn't go unnoticed. Gathering his strength, he pulled himself into a sitting position, cupping his hands in the bloodied water to rinse his face, and nudge himself awake. The priest, patient as always, watched him force himself into the real world again, and stood by the door with his hands folded in front of his belt, like a silent sentinel. "Ahm dizzy." Butch complained, holding his face in one hand while his elbow rested on the iron rim of the tub.

"I know." The reverend said. "That's the blood loss."

Butch grumbled in annoyance. "Yea, ah know that. Thank ye." While he was still demonstratively suffering, the priest made a hand movement to the girls, indicating for them to get up and come over to him. Knowing the reverend as a man always seeking out the helpless, they obeyed, and hurried behind him, leaving the room through the door he was guarding, and blocking with his large frame. He was sure Butch heard every movement, every patter of feet, but for some reason the criminal decided to pretend not to notice.

"You need rest." Brady remarked dryly, to which Butch shot him a bored look before closing his eyes again. "I shall tell her you're resting." The outlaw said nothing more, and didn't look up when the priest turned and left.

Outside, Eleanor got up from the floor when she saw the reverend emerge from the door, closing it behind him quickly. Her legs had started to feel tired, as was the rest of her body. "How is he?" she asked, wringing her hands together nervously. "Is he in a lot of pain?"

Removing his heavy, black coat, Brady draped it around the young girl's shoulders. "Sleep is the best healer of all." He told her gently. "I have to prepare my evening mass. You're welcome to join me and leave that old crook to lick his wounds for now."

She hesitated, feeling warmer now, but shook her head. "I think I'll stay here for now." She decided. "Thank you though.. father."

He nodded, and smiled down at her. "Alright, play your role of guardian angel then." He chuckled. "I'll be in the church if you need me." With that, he left, and she watched him disappear behind the smoky haze in the narrow hallway. Now alone, she wondered what would happen if she knocked on the door herself. She lifted her arm, but hesitated, then thought against it and lowered it again. She turned, and looked around the hall for a moment, a shiver ran down her spine, but she fought it. She'd wait here for him. Right here. Slowly, her legs started to protest, and gently she slid to the floor with her back against the door. The long sleeves of the reverend's heavy coat covered her hands, and she dug into it, searching for warmth. Outside, a coyote sniffed the cracks in the wood, his blue eyes glowing in the dark of night. And somehow, with him around, she didn't feel as alone anymore.

R&R please!

Happy holidays everyone! Love you!


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